Sea of Sand
by Ekobean
Summary: My Jak 3 novelization, re named and now with more chapters! Chapter 12 is now up. Rated for mild language, JakAshelin, spoilers, and violence. R&R, and no flames please! Jak battles for his second Arena win
1. Chapter 1: Banished

This is my first fanfic, so please be gentle on her! This is a novelized version of Jak 3, due to hit stores on October of this year. I do own Jak, Daxter, Keira, Ashelin, or for that matter, any of the characters that may appear in this hound. Now, with no further ado, may I present Jak 3!

Chapter 1

The hot waves of heat curled up from the baked dunes of the wasteland. The sun beat down hard upon the hot land, as if angry at something. Thirsty plants dug their roots deep into the ground while their tops fried in the heat. But they would find no water today. They hardly ever did.

There was absolutely no sign of life, it was impossible for anything to survive in the wasteland. Or so the people of Haven City believed. If anyone had been around they'd have seen something irregular. A small dust was being kicked up in the distance. The source was a small transport Zoomer, it's small engines whirring at full speed.

After a while the Zoomer's speed lessened, as did its altitude. The back door opened up before it even touched the ground. The Krimzon Guard used the Zoomer. It had been painted over with a deep, rich blue symbolizing the end of Baron Praxis' rule. Three people stepped out from the back door of the vehicle.

One was an elf of medium build. He had long, blonde hair that reached down his shoulders, and deep rich blue eyes that reflected the very light of the sun. He was clothed in a tight blue tunic and tan baggy pants. A brown leather satchel was slung around his hips. On his feet were large, iron-toe boots. The elf was known as Jak, and he was a captive.

A half-foot-thick cuff was wrapped tightly around his wrists with a small blinking antenna on its top.

The other two people were New Krimzon Guards. Their thick armor matched the color of the Zoomer. One of the hit Jak with the butt of his gun. Jak growled, but did not react. He was in enough trouble as it was. The three of them were closely followed by two more people, one was a man and the other a young woman. All five of him had the long, sharp ears of the elf.

The woman was thin, and very good looking. Her outfit did not consist of much. She wore a blue, tight, long-sleeved tank top that stopped just under her breasts. Her leggings were also tight and blue. The thighs of her pants were cut off revealing the entire outside of her thighs. She had short, blood-red hair that ended in dread locks and a face slightly marred by green, webbed tattoos that crawled about her face. At her side was a small Red Eco pistol. Jak knew this woman well. She was the only daughter of the late Baron Praxis and governess of Haven City. She was Ashelin.

The other one looked to be in his late fifties. His graying brown hair was combed back neatly, except for the bald spot at his forehead. He wore a blue tuxedo and proper black shoes. His eyes, however, were cold and hard. Emotionless.

In one had he carried a Yakow-leather bound book, and in the other a golden baton. He was the High Councilors of Haven City's power broker, Count Veger. A thin smile was spread across his lips. As the group stopped not far from the ship Veger cleared his throat and opened the book. "By order of the Grand Council of Haven City," he began importantly as Jak struggled with the cuff, "for heinous acts and crimes against the people, you are hereby banished to the Wasteland for life." He snapped the book shut and immediately turned back to the ship.

Ashelin stepped out behind him. "This is a death sentence, Veger!" she cried after him, "there has to be another way."

The Count Veger wheeled around angrily. "Your protest was overruled," he spat, "this Dark Eco freak is dangerous! Now drop the cargo!" The argument was interrupted, however, by another voice coming from the transport.

"Thees ees an outrage!" it squawked. Everyone turned to the ship to find a strange little animal sitting there. It appeared to be a crossbreed between a monkey and a parrot. Its head and torso were that of a monkey, but its arms were wings and its feet claws. It was red and blue all over and spoke with a thick Spanish accent. Jak knew this creature was the interpreter of Onin, the blind old fortuneteller of Haven City. His name was Pecker. "I am outraged beyond words...although I do have something to say. Not everyone agrees with this r-r-r-ridiculous - AAAARKK! – Decree!" The monkey-bird stepped back, narrowly avoiding a collision with another strange creature that dropped down from the ceiling.

This creature looked like a crossbreed between an otter and a weasel. Jak knew this creature better than anyone. Its name was Daxter, and it had once been an elf like Jak. Daxter was wearing his usual brown fingerless gloves and pilot-style goggles.

He also wore a deep scowl on his face, which was very uncommon. Daxter's face looked like it was built to smile, so a frown or scowl looked out of place on his furry mug. "Yeah, we want a recount!" Daxter piped in his high-pitched voice.

The Count took a menacing step towards the animals. "Oh, so I see you wish to join him!" he sneered.

"Actually, we are not _that_ outraged," said Pecker retreating slowly to the back of the transport, "farewell Jak! Stay out of the sun! Drink lots of water...if you can find it." And with this last remark he disappeared behind one of the seats.

"Jak?" asked Daxter worriedly.

"Go back to the city, Dax," said Jak.

Ashelin walked over to Jak. "I'm sorry," she said removing the cuffs from Jak's wrists, "the Council is too powerful. There is nothing I" –

"I know," said Jak. He did not look up at Ashelin. He was busy rubbing is wrists.

"You just stay alive, you hear me?" she said grabbing his hand. Jak felt a small metallic item fall into his hand. She closed his hand around it gently with her own. "That's an order. Someone will find you. I promise." With that she stalked back to the transport.

"May the Precursors have mercy on you." Sneered the Veger as the door closed. The transport lifted up and disappeared into the distance. Jak looked at his hand. Ashelin had dropped a small, metallic disk into his hand. On it was a flashing light. Suddenly Jak heard a sound that sounded like coughing.

He looked up to find two small shapes materializing as the dust settled. "Daxter!" cried Jak.

"Don't thank me," said Daxter, wiping the dust from his orange fur. "I'm only here because you wouldn't last a second without me. Okay, tough guy, you got us into this mess. Now you gotta get us out."

"Ah, what a team we'll make." Said Pecker cheerfully.

"Let's get moving," sighed Jak, "but which way?"

"That way!" cried both animals, pointing in opposite directions. The two immediately turned on each other.

"Oh, and I suppose you know where you're going, eh?" asked Pecker indignantly, poking Daxter firmly in the chest.

"Better than you do, bent beak!" retorted Daxter.

Jak groaned. They didn't have time for this. "Let's just move!"

Hours passed. The sun was in the middle of the sky. Jak's arms hung limply at his sides, his throat parched. He had to keep moving. The animals behind him weren't doing so well either. Daxter's tongue hung limply five inches out of his mouth. Pecker landed in front of Daxter. "Thees – gasp – was all your stupid idea!" he said angrily.

"No, it was yours." Daxter said, poking Pecker in the nose. "Only a bird-brain could've thought this one up. 'Let's go weeth heem,'" he flapped his hands, mocking the monkey-bird. "'We'll help together.' You mean we'll DIE together!!...I can't believe the city hates us...we **saved** those low-lives!"

Jak hadn't heard a word. His mind was wandering to yesterday. How he had walked into the Palace's control room...

"Jak, the city's divided!" rasped Torn. He and Ashelin were standing in front of a hologram of the battle outside. "We have reports that new Krimzon Death Bots are holding the last section of the Industrial area. My men are getting their asses kicked! The KG have a new leader. We're trying to find out who it is."

"I'm afraid I have more bad news," came an all-too-familiar voice. Samos the Sage hobbled into the room. His tree-stump clogs made hollow _thunk _sounds as they hit the floor. His long beard nearly touched the ground. He was a strange looking creature with his green skin and spectacles with different sized lenses. All two feet of him. "A large group of surviving Metal Heads have concentrated in another section of the city."

Jak placed his hand over his forehead. That didn't make sense. "But we destroyed Kor!"

"It appears that the strongest Metal Heads have survived. The battle for the city has just begun!"

Jak tuned away. This really was happening, and he was powerless to stop it.

"The people are blaming you Jak," said Ashelin...

More time passed. The sun was beginning to set. A bird howled in the background. Jak's legs wobbled and gave way beneath him. He gasped as he fell into the hot sand. Daxter walked on, but not far.

"Great, good plan Jak," said the Ottsel, coughing and giving a light 'thumbs-up' sign to Jak, "a nap would be nice. Just a teensy little rest." He then fell unconscious next to his friend. A small cloud formed where he fell. Pecker was not far behind. He barely had enough strength to flap his wings.

"Oh..." he moaned, "this bird is overcooked!" and he too fell.

Jak coughed as another flashback formed before his eyes. "The Palace..." he choked.

He and Samos were walking on the stone balcony of the Palace. The slowly rotating top gave them a full view of the battle. Blue-and-red lasers shot up from every inch of the city. It was much more horrible when witnessed first hand. Screams of pain and death were everywhere. Somewhere out there Torn and Ashelin were flying in a Hellcat Cruiser surveying the battle. "Report!" yelled Samos into a small radio in his hand.

"It's bad!" came Torn's raspy reply, "The city's become a battlefield." They flew past the balcony where Jak and Samos were stationed. "Mechanized Death Bots are taking the Industrial section, and the surviving Metal Heads have expanded their hold on the west side! We're losing ground on all fronts."

"The Council's meeting tonight in an emergency session," began Ashelin over the radio. "Rumblings about you, Jak, it doesn't look good. They think your friendship with Krew helped the Metal Heads get into the city." Jak remembered Krew. The fat slob that floated in the hover chair. Power-mad. Insane. The traitor.

"You don't believe that, do you?" Jak asked Samos worriedly.

"What's in the past is done," said Samos yelled back over the sounds of the battle. "Right now Metal Heads are assaulting the Palace. They're looking for something and I have no idea" –

His words were cut short as the whistle of missiles ripped through the air. The Palace rocked back and forth as the sounds of explosions and cracking stone filled the air. The Palace slowly began to fall, tilting dangerously downwards. "Yaaah!!" cried a terrified Daxter on Jak's shoulder, "We're going!"

The sound of Hellcat engines roared up out of nowhere. Jak saw Torn and Ashelin pull right up to the Palace. "Over here, jump!" cried Torn. In the nick of time they boarded the cruiser, for right at that moment the palace fell, cracking open and crushing the buildings and people under it. In the very base of the palace a strange white light shone out into the day. It was blinding...beautiful...

"By the Precursors..." whispered Samos...

Heavy footsteps plodded through the sand. Had Jak been awake he would have seen the large people in shining armor. One of them had four horns sprouting from his head, resembling a crown of sorts. "Looks like we've got some live ones." He said, "barely." He nudged Jak roughly with his spear. Jak's hand opened, revealing the small disk. The man grabbed it from his hand. "Here's the beacon we were picking up," he said and he grabbed Jak by the shirt, "who gave you this?" When no answer came he threw Jak back down on the ground. "We'll take them with us, let's move," he said to the other men behind him, "I smell a storm coming..."

Ekobean: Wipes his brow Well what do you think? Please R&R!...and no flames or the guy with the horns will come to your house! I am sad to say that unless Naughty Dog releases another video early I'll be unable to continue until October 19th. Cries


	2. Chapter 2: Hail to the King

**Ekobean: Ah yes, finally. Now that Jak 3 has finally been released to the public, I can now continue my retelling that I started MONTHS AGO!! (thanks in part to NaughtyDog…well, ok. Thanks all to NaughtyDog. So anyways, here's my long awaited chapter two. Oh, and before I forget, I'd like to say that you won't be seeing any "New Menace" chapters for a while. I'm trying to decide where it's going to go. I have a rough idea, but I'm trying to think of ideas to go in between. But have no fear, you will see another chapter. Ok, so here we go!**

Jak was sitting on the granite walkway up to the throne. He had found himself in an enormous hall lit by torches that flickered every twenty feet around the room. The walkway started at the makeshift elevator that had raised him up to this place.

On either side of the walkway were large pools of clear spring water that pooled down from sprinklers in the craggy ceiling. He was soaking his feet in one of them, enjoying the cool tickle of the stuff as it soaked into his boots.

Daxter was fully immersed in the water as well, making tiny circles with his fingers and muttering to himself.

Jak tilted his head back and recalled the events of the past few hours. He had awoken in a small room with only one window from which came a ray of sparkling light. Daxter had been there as well, snoring on his chest. Jak had gotten up and walked to the door. The memories were blurry, as if they had been a dream. Jak shook his head, trying to remember.

Someone had come in and taken him to another building. Jak had been drowsy and had barely noticed his surroundings. The only thing he could remember were the furtive glances of men and women as he passed.

They had taken him to this building and cut his hair into the shorter, wavy flame that it was now. They ripped the sleeves from his tunic and had given him new shoulder armor that appeared to be made of some sort of copper.

They then led him to this place and told him to wait. That was barely all that he could recall. Daxter's voice snuck into his head, jarring him back to reality.

"I love water, oh yes, it's so good." Daxter was muttering, splashing himself with the cool substance. "Desert bad…"

"So you've come back from the dead, have you?" a new voice broke in. Jak whipped around to find a new figure standing behind him with his hands behind his back. Jak recognized him as the man who had rescued him from the desert. He wore a thick piece of armor that wrapped around his torso and onto his shoulders. His legs were bare, save for the heavy army-style boots that were strapped onto his colossal feet. He had to be about six and a half feet tall at the very least.

His face was squared and set, his ears high and proud. Five copper-colored prongs shot up from his very skull. He was looking down at Jak with a deep scowl that seemed perfectly at home on his face. The contempt that burned in his black eyes was of the highest quality. "And to think my monks were ready to pray for you! I am Damas, king of Spargus."

Jak cocked and eyebrow. "Spargus?" he inquired. A tidal wave of images flowed into his mind. Sandy roads filled with shuffling people, locking him with questioning stares…

"Wait," he said, "no one lives outside Haven's walls. Not a whole city."

"Ah yes," the giant named Damas chuckled and began to walk down the worn granite steps of the throne to Jak, "we are the forgotten ones. Haven City's refuse, thrown out and left to die…just like you." He pointed to Jak with the end of his bronze-headed staff.

Daxter climbed out of the pool of spring water and began to busily ring out his tail.

"But," Damas continued, "now that your life has been saved, it now belongs to the people of Spargus, and we will use it well…if it's actually _worth _anything." Daxter immediately stopped wringing out his tail and fixed Damas with an uneasy stare.

"Hey!" Daxter interrupted, approaching the giant Wastelander, "that sounds like a bad deal!"

Damas locked his rock-hard eyes on Daxter with a venomous stare. "You are in no position to deal. Out here everything is either useful or dead weight. Prove yourselves worthy or the desert will be your grave!"

Jak immediately sat up and rose to his full height, only coming up to Damas' chest plate. He curled his hands into tight fists and stared into Damas' eyes with a deep scowl. "You need to work on making a better first impression," he growled.

Damas laughed and sidled up to Jak, pointing a steady finger in his face. "Here in the unforgiving Wasteland we value strength and survival above all. We will see where you stand soon enough. Complete your training, and then enter battle in the Arena. Only the bravest crawl out and are allowed to stay in Spargus. It's quite simple really." Damas turned away and began to slowly march back to his throne.

Daxter crawled up on Jak's shoulder and timidly asked one final question. "Er…and the ones that don't crawl back out?"

Damas chuckled and turned back to the two of them. He fixed them with a final, steely-eyed stare. "Then it will be as if we never found you."

Daxter gulped and slumped down on Jak's bronze shoulder plate. "I was afraid you were gonna say that," he moaned.

**Ekobean: After months of waiting, chappy two is finally out. Keep a lookout for Chapter 3 next.**


	3. Chapter 3: In the Arena of Death

**Ekobean: At last my Chapter Three is now completed. Took long enough, eh? Sorry, I had a lot of stuff going on and didn't have time to write (translation: Been working on Adventures in the Wasteland with Shadowsister and Red Hawk K'sani). But the wait is over. Here is Sea of Sand chapter 3.**

The mechanical door opened with a steamy _hiss_ in front of Jak. Damas had lead him to the Arena, a tall, round building with an open top like the Arena in Haven City. It was wrought of raw Precursor Metal most likely scavenged from the desert, set in the ancient stone hundreds of years ago. A long set of hundreds of steps clothed in a blood-red carpet lead up to the entrance.

As the opened, a tidal wave of noise flooded into Jak's pointed ears. Cheers, hisses, grunts and boos mingled with the bubbling slosh of lava. Jak stepped out onto the platform in front of him. Around it was a sheer drop down into molten rock.

A familiar heavily Spanish voice drifted out over the stadium, silencing the rowdy shouts of the crowd. "Hail all citizens of Spargus!" it crows, "Welcome to the Arena of Death, where we get to watch people wet themselves in fear! Once again these halls will test two newcomers, each fighting to prove their worth to stay among us. Let's hear it for Jak and his obnoxious talking animal!" Daxter straightened indignantly on Jak's shoulder.

Meanwhile Jak scanned the environment, searching for the owner of the voice. At last his gaze landed on – "Pecker, there you are!" Jak sighed, relieved. Pecker was perched on the throne's armrest next to Damas on a separate platform, overlooking the entire Arena. He had his finger-feathers crossed contemplatively. "Where were you?"

"Damas says I am to be his new councilor," Pecker explained, bowing. "He says that my wisdom will serve him well. Oh, and ah…" he added dismissively, "He also says that you two are most likely to die in the Arena today, and he hopes you death is very ahh…"

"Will you stop that!" Daxter interrupted, "Damas can talk for himself."

"He is right," Damas rasped, "you will most likely die. And yes, Pecker is my new advisor." Damas looked over approvingly at Pecker, who nodded and flew down in front of Jak and Daxter.

"Unlike you, some people actually appreciate my talents," Pecker taunted snottily. Jak rolled his eyes, and Daxter gagged. Pecker, not noticing the disrespect displayed before him, continued, "Anyway, it beats working for a living. I saw some of the fights earlier. Oooo…not a pretty sight." Pecker even visibly shuddered.

"Why you little…" Daxter hissed, curling his tiny, gloved paw into a fist. Pecker turned away from them and opened his wings to the crowd, shouting:

"Let the games begin!!" The crowd's roar of approval was deafening, hoots and chants mixed with boos and hisses. With that, Pecker flapped his tie-dye wings and assumed his perch next to Damas.

This left Jak and Daxter alone. Jak turned and surveyed his surroundings. It was an obstacle course of sorts, hanging about twenty to forty feet above the bubbling lava below. It was constructed from wood and bits and pieces of scrap metal welded unevenly together. "We're gonna die," Daxter whimpered.

"Well, I guess we just have to make it to the end of the course then?" Jak suggested. Without another word he made off at full speed. There was a higher platform before him, which he jumped up on without any problems. A series of similar jumps followed, going upward into a semi-spiral. At the end of the jumps Jak found himself at a narrow makeshift bridge. No supports or anything were at the edges, it was just a bridge, nearly two feet across. Without looking over the sides, he sprinted over it onto the other side, on which he found himself facing a ledge about ten feet high. A single, wobbly ladder was resting against it. Jak scaled it quickly. The moment he reached the top the ladder crumbled and fell into a pile.

The moment he reached the top of the ledge he realized that things were about to become more interesting. There was another ledge before him, too high for him to reach even with his high jump. However, to his left was a moving platform, sliding back and forth through the lava. "Jak, please…" Daxter begged, covering his eyes.

Without responding, the blond elf vaulted over the edge and landed feet first on the platform. Without waiting to catch his breath, he immediately launched off again, grabbing the next ledge with his hands and hoisting himself up, trying to ignore the fateful bubble of the magma below him. The next ledge in front of him was shorter than the previous one. Jak crouched down, readying his legs for the sudden burst of power needed to perform a high jump.

He let go like a spring-loaded cannon, sailing ten feet into the air and catching the edge of the ledge, pulling himself up. A similar moving platform stood to his right. This time he would need a long jump to reach it. Jak backed up to the very edge of the ledge, and then took off at full tilt, sprinting. Not two feet from the edge he rolled, catching his feet on the ground and using his momentum to catapult himself across the ledge to the platform. He then used this momentum to catapult himself again across the next chasm to the ledge beyond the platform.

Jak stayed there, crouching for a minute, allowing his heartbeat to return to normal. He hadn't felt this drained since he had escaped the Baron's prison three years ago. He was out of shape, he knew it. He would have to stay active, that is if he survived the rest of the course.

He rose to his feet and continued on. He found himself facing nothing. There were no more ledges, no platforms. He turned questioningly to Damas. "You're not at the end yet, newcomer." Damas said.

Jak walked around the full expanse of the narrow ledge. There was nothing.

And then he noticed the discolored section in the middle of the area. It was tarp, not medal. Tanned Yakow hide. Jak nodded and leapt up, coming down fist first onto the hide. It ripped easily, sending him falling about twenty feet into the area below. It was hotter here, closer to the lava. The air was thick and musty, hard to take in, like dust.

Jak walked on, soon coming to the end of this room, out into the open on a small platform. The stadium was silent as a single platform rose up out of the lava. Jak cautiously stepped onto the platform, ignoring Daxter's quivering, hyperventilating bulk on his shoulder. The platform shuddered and then carried him swiftly to the platform set before Damas. Jak stepped off onto this platform, and faced Damas and Pecker triumphantly.

"The candidates have…won the challenge," Pecker said, and air of disappointment hovering about his voice.

"That's right, we bad!" Daxter bragged, smacking Jak on his ear tip, "Ya haven't forgotten what I taught ya, Jak."

Jak rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer.

Damas, however, was unimpressed. "Anyone can make a few measly jumps." He rasped, and reached behind his throne to produce a Scatter Gun. He tossed the gun carelessly to Jak. "Now let's see how you rate against the living." Jak caught the Scatter Gun with ease, feeling its familiar surface. "Readjust the matter formers," Damas commanded to someone off in the audience, "prepare the Arena for full combat!"

"Prepare the Arena for full combat!" Pecker mimicked.

"I just said that."

"I know," Pecker retorted, "I was just…you know how you do with the…thing…" a swift look from Damas' eyes told Pecker it was time to stop. "Anyway," Pecker continued, shifting nervously, "prepare the warriors."

Daxter stiffened on Jak's shoulder. "You mean we have to fight actual people? With actual weapons? Who actually want to hurt us?" He buried his face in his hands.

"That's fine," Jak said cocking the gun, "bring 'em on."

"Ok, _that's _it," Daxter said, "I wanna be on his shoulder!" he pointed over to Damas. Meanwhile Pecker made some rude signs with his feathers out of Damas' sight. Daxter growled, his fur standing on end.

Jak turned around to see that the obstacle course from before had vanished, replaced with what looked more like a classic arena. As the platform he was on lowered, he saw that it was built relatively the same way. Four shacks stood on each side. Muffled shouts and grunts could be heard echoing inside. Also, there were four large steel blocks stuck strategically around the Arena. Jak guessed that they were to hide from enemy fire.

Jak stepped off onto the Arena, and immediately the doors of the four shacks opened up. Four enormous warriors, clad only in loincloths and grotesque masks of steel, jumped out of them. They landed skillfully on their feet, brandishing cruel spiked scimitars. Rows of rippling muscles decorated their torsos, and numerous fresh cuts and old scars littered their bulging arms and abs. All four of them turned their masked eyes toward Jak and charged.

Jak was ready. The men attacked as one, and that was their first mistake. One shot from the Scatter Gun's wide range of fire sent them sprawling across the arena's floor, killed instantly. The shacks' doors opened again, producing four identical warriors. "Sheesh, talk about family resemblance!" Daxter muttered into Jak's pointed ear.

These warriors were wiser, attacking one at a time. The first one came at Jak, his sword raised high for the kill. Jak sidestepped the blow, landing a kick in the creature's face with his steel-toed boot. The warrior grunted and fell backward. Jak wasn't finished. He jumped on top of the fallen man and finished him with a Scatter shell directly in his face. The man's head imploded, spewing the contents across the arena's floor.

Suddenly a sharp ringing filled the air. The warriors grunted and immediately leaped up on top of one of the steel boxes. Jak soon found the reason. Lava was leaking in through holes in the floor. Soon the entire arena would be flooded. Jak followed suit, leaping up on to the one remaining box. The arena soon overflowed with the bubbling substance. A minute passed, and the lava finally subsided.

The warriors leaped off of their boxes and continued their onslaught. For nearly half an hour the match raged on in the same monotonous pattern. Warriors attack. Jak kills warriors. Area fills up, jump on boxes. Lava subsides, rinse and repeat.

But at last there was a break in the pattern. Jak tripped, a warrior's sword sliced a long, diagonal gash across his torso, grabbed him by the neck and threw him to another warrior, who kicked him to another. Jak was passed around like a ragdoll, thrown and bruised.

His heartbeat quickened, pumping the dormant Dark Eco that lurked in his bloodstream through his body, increasing his muscles, gifting him with Dark Powers. The creature that had long lay dormant in the back of his subconscious was resurrected. Dark Jak lived.

The warriors stopped their game to stare in wonder. Their plaything was writhing on the floor, tearing at his clothes and shrieking. A startling transformation was taking place before them. The elf's skin was paling, soon chalk white, the short blond hair growing long and spiky. Ram-like horns sprouted from his forehead, and his teeth, particularly his canines, grew into long, menacing fangs. Daxter had run long ago, hiding behind one of the boxes for protection.

Soon an entirely new creature stood before them. Tar black claws, three inches long, were at the tips of his fingers in lieu of fingernails and deep black pools of soulless darkness were all that remained of his eyes.

The warriors panicked and attacked. Dark Jak caught the first one, digging his claws into his torso and hurling him face first into the lava, where he writhed in agony before disappearing into its depths. The second of them fared little better. Dark Jak ripped him apart, slashing him down the center and allowing him to split. He ran around the arena in a moment of hatred, destroying anybody in his way. At last, all of the warriors were gone, bloody piles that littered the arena. Daxter emerged and crawled up onto the beast's shoulder.

Out of anyone, Daxter was the only one Dark Jak trusted. Perhaps it recognized him from Jak's memories. It was a mystery.

A platform rose up from the lava, and Dark Jak stepped onto it, allowing it to carry him to the platform in front of Damas. The moment he stepped onto it, the transformation was reversed, and Jak stood there cradling his head. The first thing he saw was the blurry image of an elf-like creature standing erect on the platform from which he'd entered.

An image of disgust and intolerance burned in its deep amber eyes. Its face was pale, chalk-white, mingled among various paints that had been decorated around its eyes. Jak cringed, turning away from the figure. Damas stern voice brought him back to reality, and he turned to see Damas staring at him with a new light. "Something you're not telling us, animal-man?"

"He has been touched with Dark Eco, my liege," Pecker explained.

"Our boy here gets all mean and nasty when you piss him off," Daxter added, gesticulating wildly, "so don't piss him off. Word to the wise."

"Ahh, then he is dangerous," Damas said, turning to Pecker. A slow smile crept across his face. Behind his stern face, the complex gears of his mind were churning, forming an idea. "And that could be useful," he turned back to Jak and announced "Your bravery has earned you your first Battle Amulet. Collect two more of these in Arena fights to earn your citizenship to Spargus." A small white table was set before Jak. A small glowing circular object was sitting there in the middle, next to a gun barrel. Jak lifted the small disk and pocketed it. "Here is a Gate Pass to allow you free access in or out of Spargus," Damas continued tossing the rectangular object to Jak, "but be warned, there is no true refuge outside our walls. The desert is less kind than I. And for your victory a gun mod is your prize."

Jak grinned and reached for the Blaster barrel that had been set next to the Amulet. Daxter leaped up pounded his hands excitedly on the table. "Oh yeah, now we're talking!" before he could reach the mod Jak grabbed it and applied it to the Morph Gun, pocketing the Scatter Gun mod in his satchel.

"Hey, what do I get?" Daxter whined as Jak examined his new gun. "Nothing," he answered, "as usual."

Jak, however, broke his gaze from his new prize long enough to look over at the vacant spot where just moments before he had seen the ghostly silhouette of an apparition. What had it been…?

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4: Of Leaper Lizards and Kanga R...

**Ekobean: Alrighty then! Here we go, my next chapter of Sea of Sand. I hope to be able to novelize the entire game before the end of 2005, which shouldn't be too hard. So here ya go. Keep those good reviews coming.**

Jak strolled casually down the hall that lead to the Arena's entrance. He had no idea what he was going to do. He had nowhere to live, and technically he wasn't exactly a citizen of the city. Who knew how these Wastelanders would react to him? If they were as hardass as Damas there may have be a few difficulties.

As Jak approached the exit he noticed a large, armored figure leaning casually against the wall. As he grew closer he saw that the figure was a fat man, a long bushy moustache running down his pudgy cheeks. The guy looked tough, and could most likely hold his own. He was balding, sandy blonde hair rimming the outskirts of his domed head. A long, web-like scar ran down the left side of his face. Jak also noticed that almost half of his left ear was missing, most likely lost in some back alley rumble.

The man was cleaning his nails with a cruel, curved dagger. As Jak approached he said "Those were some sweet moves in the Arena, boy," he broke his bloodshot gaze from his nails to Jak and raised his hand into a balled fist, "but a little more choke, and you'd have popped, eh?"

Jak stopped and crossed his arms, trying not to betray any intimidation to the elf, "You talking to me?"

"Yeah, you talking to…him?" said Daxter, crawling behind Jak.

The elf chuckled and pushed off of the wall, curling his hands together as if praying. "No," he stated sarcastically, "I'm conversing with me sweet departed mum. Of course you, you boar-head!" The elf dropped his hands and stared at Jak with an odd half-grin. "You two are from the big smoke, eh?"

The elf's "eh" at the end of his sentences reminded Jak uncomfortably of Krew. And judging from his physique he was on his way to becoming the next Krew. "Who's asking?"

The elf's eyes narrowed and he lunged forward, causing Jak to step back about three steps. "The guy who runs this place! Kleiver's the name. You blokes stick with me and I'll take care of ya." Jak's hands tightened into fists, but Kleiver took no notice. "In fact," he continued, "I have a little job for you right now. Take me Leaper lizard and go after those Kanga Rats that've been raiding me store room. Snag me six of those poppies and I'll let you ride one of me racing vehicles…that is, if Damas ever lets you leave the city."

"I think we can handle that," said Jak grinning, "what's a Leaper anyway?"

Kleiver's eyes widened in surprise. "You boys really aren't from around here, are ya?" Kleiver walked around the curve in the hall to the other side and emerged with one of the strangest creatures Jak had ever seen. It was almost dinosaur-like in appearance, bipedal and ridge-backed. Its arms were batlike, with a thin membrane spread between the digits.

"Woah! That looks just like the Flut-Flut from back home!"

Kleiver growled "Are you blokes going or what?"

"Wait," said Daxter, glancing nervously at the black-eyed Leaper, "you actually want us to ride that thing?"

"What have I been saying this whole time, little bugger?!" Kleiver roared.

"I hate riding animals," Daxter whined, "they make me chafe!"

"Aw, come on Dax," said Jak, grabbing Daxter by the scruff of the neck and leaped onto the saddled Leaper's back.

"Hold on there," said Kleiver as he fished around in his pocket for something. After about five seconds he produced a watch and tossed it to Jak. "That there's a map. It's directly connected by satellite. The satellite scans the environment and gives you a map. I managed to fix locaters onto the Kanga Rats before they got away from me. They should show up as green blips on the screen. Now go get 'em!"

Jak fixed the new map to his wrist and sped off. The Leaper certainly felt like a Flut-Flut, nearly identical. Everything about it was familiar to him. Now he looked down at his map. Six small green blips were appearing throughout Spargus. At least he would get to tour the town while hunting them down.

Spargus was by no means as large as Haven. It was roughly a quarter of the size. It was mostly a mess of ramshackle huts or structures carved from the very rock.

The first blip was growing closer, and Jak was becoming exceedingly cautious. Most of the citizens were locking him with the same steely-eyed glare that Damas had used, and all of them had a large Red Eco rifle strapped to their backs. "I see it Jak! I see it!" Daxter screamed suddenly, jumping up and down on Jak's plated shoulder. Jak snapped his head up and spotted it. It was also dinosaur-like in appearance, about a foot tall and red. When it spotted the Leaper it hissed and began to run at amazing speed.

"Let's get 'em!" The Leaper took off at full tilt, hastily gaining on the small bipedal lizard. The Leaper caught up to it after about thirty seconds and scooped it up in its mouth. The Kanga Rat twisted and squirmed, letting out piteous squeals as the leaper began to shake it ruefully. Finally, it swallowed it. There was no chewing or crunching, it simply swallowed it whole like a string of spaghetti. Daxter was frozen in mid-cheer. His pupils had shrunken to the size of dust bunnies. "…Eew," he managed to squeak before fainting.

The next five rats didn't fare much better. They lead Jak all around the two main parts of the city. Jak came to name them the "interior" and the "exterior." The Interior was the section with the gate that lead out into the Wasteland. The Exterior was much more beautiful. It bordered the sea, looking out over a vast stretch of endless blue. At a point it seemed as thought he cloudless sky joined with the sparkling sea, producing an endless sheet of blue. Wastelander children, the children of their banished parents, frolicked carelessly on the sandy beach, building sand castles and firing at each other with imaginary weapons.

As the Leaper glommed down the last Kanga Rat, Jak's wrist map fizzed. In place of the map was Kleiver's double-chinned mug. "Nice job. Maybe my food stores'll last a little longer now. If Damas ever lets you leave the city, stop by me garage and I'll let you take one of me rides for a spin. When you're done with 'er, drop my Leaper off in the corral. See you 'round, newbies."

"Well, may as well get the goods then," Dax shrugged. Jak nodded and set a course for Kleiver's garage. However, as he moved on something caught his eye. A gathering of five elves were circled about a large, black contraption.

"Let's go check this out."

As they neared Jak could make out the features of the elves clearly. They were ghostly white, dressed in Precursor metal and dark rubber. Their faces were painted with amber powders and gold paints. The one in the center of the gathering, closest to the artifact, was the one who caught Jak's eye the most. As he drew nearer he recognized him as the apparition he had seen as his Arena trial ended. Jak dismounted the Leaper and continued on foot, drawing into the circle.

"Check out these funny dudes," Daxter laughed, "must be Damas' monks." He looked to the monk closest to the artifact and said "Nice threads. I didn't know rubber was back in. What're you working on, monk boy?"

The monk replied, with a soft whispery voice, "It is none of your concern, animal." Jak then realized that "he" was in fact a "she."

Daxter puffed himself up indignantly and hopped off of Jak's shoulder and approached the leader. "Look coloring book, we've had a hard week. Don't push it."

The female monk abandoned her work and approached Jak, "The Arena shows all, Dark One. Hate consumes your eyes." She waved her hand mystically before Jak's face.

"Great, thanks for the tip," said Jak sarcastically, crossing his arms.

"It will destroy you, just as these Precursors destroyed themselves."

Jak looked at the artifact behind seem. It resembled a giant, dark eyeball. Its roots trailed out behind it, coiled. Cruel black spikes protruded from its dark hull for some unknown purpose. Maybe it was some kind of weapon…

Daxter walked up to the artifact and tapped it with his finger. "Sure don't look like any Precursor crap we've ever seen," he stated wisely to Jak.

"This artifact is an abomination," replied the monk, "one of them fell into the Great Volcano. We sent an expedition, but my monks never returned. Ill tidings sing with the wind. I fear this planet's final trial is close at hand." She touched her fingers to her brow and was silent.

Daxter stared at her motionless form blankly for a moment before responding "I think you've been out in the sun a little too long. Come on Jak, let's go see jelly-boy." Jak nodded and followed, beginning to mount the waiting Leaper.

The monk called after him. "Leave this place at once. Heroes think they can save the world when they themselves are lost. You cannot possibly imagine the Dark Forces at work here."

Jak froze in mid step and dismounted the Leaper, marching back to the monk and stuck his finger inches from her face. The monk recoiled and held her hands up. "Don't you dare talk to me about Dark Powers. I want to know what this thing does."

As if on cue the artifact began to hum. The "eyelid" part of it opened, and a screen came forth. Except for the occasional blip, it was blank. "Stand back," said Jak, and approached the artifact. Ever so cautiously he placed his hand on the screen. The artifact shook again, and the screen receded, revealing a small Dark Eco Crystal.

"You cracked it, Jak," commented Daxter.

Jak reached forward to grab the crystal, but the monk's shrill warning momentarily stopped him. "Don't touch it! Dark Eco…"

Ignoring her, he reached forward again and plucked the crystal from the machine.

The monk's amber eyes lit up with a mixture of amazement and distaste. "Yeah, you're impressed now, aren't ya?" Daxter teased mockingly, clapping his paws together. "Come on, give him his props."

The monk cautiously drew forward and stared at the sparking Eco Crystal in Jak's hand. "Those are solid Eco Crystals, passed down through time, they power the greatest of Precursor technology."

The machine began to hum again, the screen flashing with ancient Precursor runes. "Strange…" the monk whispered, "it speaks in an ancient dialect, the earliest of Precursor forms."

"Those look like coordinates," said Jak, "like the ones from" – the monk held up her hand to silence him.

"It speaks in an ancient tongue. Something about reclaiming this unfinished world. It is picking up a very powerful signal."

Daxter began to back away from the artifact. "I don't think we're going to like what this thing's yapping to!"

Suddenly the machine lurched, lashing this way and that. The monks and nearby citizens scattered. The Leaper panicked and bolted. The machine rose into the air, making it about fifty feet before sending off a beam of light, and then exploding. The blast rocked the entire city. Nearby buildings crumbled, and bits of Precursor technology rained down from the heavens.

Jak, Daxter, and the monks rose to their feet, brushing sand and articles of debris from the artifact from their clothing. "Even you cannot save us from this, hero!" the monk hissed acidly.

"Hey!" Daxter interrupted, "I'm the real hero here! Call me…Orange Lightning! Zazazing!"

The monk's eyes narrowed. "You may carry the color of our creators, animal, but we have plans to save ourselves," she turned away from Jak and gestured for the monks to follow her. She called over her shoulder, "you and Orange Lightning are not welcome here!" and disappeared into the gathering crowd of Spargus citizens.


	5. Chapter 5: Tough Puppy

**Ekobean: After two chapters of New Menace I have finally decided to come back to this ol' girl. So, please enjoy. Really. **

The two doors hissed and opened slowly, parting and allowing entrance to Kleiver's garage. The doors, like everything else in the city, were a hodgepodge of different colored metals welded together. Jak couldn't really blame them for not trying to brighten them up a bit. When you're fighting to survive out in a desert you can't really worry about how something looks.

Jak entered, his steel-toed boots crunching pleasantly under the gravel and sand that formed the floor of the garage. It was a huge circular room, maybe fifty feet in radius. Its top was open to the light turquoise sheet of the sky. Another set of even larger doors stood ominously at the other end of the garage. This was the main entrance to Spargus City, through which only vehicles could pass.

Kleiver was standing with his hands on his massive hips in the middle of the room, most likely gloating over his prized buggies. Jak looked around the room, and couldn't help but admire the vehicles as well. They were in every shape and size, armored and unarmored.

Almost every single vehicle had a lethal-looking setup of armaments and turrets mounted on it, the barrels blackened with usage.

As Jak moved into the center of the room Kleiver turned with a less-than-welcoming smirk. "Well, well," he gargled, clutching his stomach, "if it isn't the newbies."

Daxter sat up on Jak's shoulder and retorted, "Keep yappin' jelly-boy," he taunted, clutching his stomach and wobbling it about, "we'll see who" – Daxter's trademark insult was cut short as Kleiver growled and threw out his massive hand, curling it easily around the Ottsel's torso.

Before Jak could react Kleiver had pulled a wide-eyed Daxter in close to his face, hissing through his yellow teeth "Bite it rat face, or I'll pound ya!" having made his statement clear he threw Daxter ruefully back onto Jak's copper shoulder plate.

"Oh yuck!" Daxter retched, waving his hand swiftly before his button nose, "great stink of the Precursors! I've got two words for you: 'tooth brush'!"

Ignoring Daxter's comment, Jak looked solemnly over at Kleiver's dune buggies. "Nice rides," he commented.

"Like what you see?" Kleiver said, straightening himself as pride retook him, "we use these babies to make runs into the deep desert to retrieve artifacts. Tough wheels for tough work."

Jak looked up expectantly into Kleiver's glossy eyes and said "You said we could use one."

Kleiver cocked his head, scratching his second chin thoughtfully. "I did, didn't I?" he snickered and then turned back to Jak. "But not one of those," he gestured over to the best-looking buggies to his left, most of which had the biggest guns. "Those are for the big boys. You can use that one." He nodded his balding head over into one of the darker corners of the garage. Sitting there, looking a bit neglected, was the puniest buggy of the bunch.

It was perhaps 4/5 of Jak's height, and had wheels about a foot in diameter which had long since lost their tread. Almost to further mock anyone who dared risk their dignity and drive it, Kleiver had taken the liberty of placing a long antenna on the back, off of which hung a childish-looking raccoon tail. "Hah!" Daxter coughed eccentrically, "what a runt!"

"Seems to fit you," Kleiver retorted, taking up an interest in his grubby finger nails.

"C'mon, Dax," Jak urged as he began to run to their new vehicle. Kleiver's voice shot in as Jak reached the vehicle, examining the tires and engine.

"Care to bet on a little race then?"

Jak nodded dismissively as he ran his fingers along the roll bars as Daxter bounced in the passenger seat.

"If you win," Kleiver continued, "you can keep that vehicle for as long as you live. And if I win…"

Jak stopped and faced Kleiver worriedly, spreading his arms wide. "I don't have anything."

"I'd say that yappy rodent of yours is a bit thin," Kleiver stated. Daxter gulped and clutched at his narrow throat. "But skinned and buttered, he'd make for a nice treat," Kleiver patted his wiggling belly. "I bet against him."

Daxter sat bolt upright and climbed up on the roll bar next to Jak. "Forget it!" he hollered, shaking his gloved paw at Kleiver, "Jak would never" –

Jak cut into Daxter's statement and said "Done." Daxter's fist fell to his side in midair. His face tightened into a scowl of pure loathing toward Jak.

Jak took a sidelong glance at Daxter and cocked his eyebrow. "What? Don't worry," he turned again to Kleiver, who was staring him up and down boastfully, "if there's one thing I can do, it's race."

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6: A Friendly Race

**Ekobean: Say nothing about the lack of detail on the race. I didn't feel like describing every little detail of three whole laps. Sorry, but I still liked this one. Read and review!**

The hot desert wind whipped the yellow flame that was Jak's hair round and round, depositing tiny grains of sand in its many locks.

Jak had pulled his goggles down over his eyes to block the sensitive blue bulbs from the miniature needles that were the sand particles. His mouth was drawn back into a toothy grin behind his crimson bandana.

The dune buggy ("Tough Puppy," he had named it) may have been small, but it made up for this inconvenience wholly in speed.

The buggy was controlled nothing like the hovering Zoomers of Haven. It was slower by far, and much clunkier to drive. The dash board was a gigantic puzzle of switches and screens, buttons and levers. Yellowing labels were carelessly taped under each switch, such as "Turbo," "Emergency Brake," or "Power Slide."

The majority of it, however, was taken up by a large, cracked screen. Kleiver's squished face was pasted upon it at the moment, taunting him as he made his way to the starting line.

"So, once I win, I wonder if your little friend there would taste better well done or a little juicier. Hmm, it's been a while since I had something fresh roasted on a spit…" he licked his cracked lips contemplatively.

"You know I'm gonna get you for this!" Daxter mouthed hatefully to Jak. Jak rolled his eyes as the race track came into view out of the swirling sand-filled wind.

"Save it for when you actually win the race Kleiver," Jak retorted.

"Right, then it'll be that much sweeter!" Kleiver roared.

Jak growled and flipped the "off" switch next to the screen.

"Stupid, fat-assed, scar faced, high cholesterol…" Daxter pouted as he curled into the seat next to Jak.

"Dax, nothing's going to happen to you, ok?" Jak reassured him, "no way I'm letting that blob get the better of me."

The race track was marked by a row of high burning torches, each about a hundred feet apart. A group of about five buggies were already lined up in front of a checkered line. On either side of the two lines were large boulders shooting up from the ground like the molars of an ancient beast.

Jak slowed the buggy to a halt in the one vacant spot next to a wicked-looking buggy with barbed wheels and a tanned Yakow tarp slung over the roll bars, hiding the insides from view.

Kleiver's magnified voice boomed out of one of the buggies in the front line. "Some friends of mine wanted a little piece of the action as well."

"Fine with me!"

"Right then," Kleiver continued, "One…two…three…GO!!"

In a half a second the entire area was blurred with a haze of dust and sand kicked up from the spinning tires of multiple buggies. "Here we go!"

Kleiver had immediately taken first place, followed closely by two other buggies. Jak was second to last, blocked by a large, fierce-looking buggy with spiked tires.

Jak swerved to the left, only to be blocked by the buggy. He veered right, only to be blocked again. "Someone knows how to race," Jak muttered.

"Come on Jak! Come on, get 'im, get 'im!"

"Dax, shut up!"

"Your fur isn't on the line here, buddy boy!"

Jak twisted the wheel to the left ever so slightly, making the buggy jerk. The other buggy in front of him reacted immediately, veering far to the left. "Sucker!" Jak accelerated immediately, soon neck-and-neck with the buggy.

The buggy slid across the sand, ramming into Jak. Jak turned his head to the left to see a complete drop off, leading on to an expansive sea. He was trying to drive him off the edge.

The buggy rammed him again and again, each time driving him farther towards the cliff. "Not today," Jak shouted and flipped the "Emergency Break" switch. The buggy halted almost immediately, just as the buggy made another attempt to ram him. The buggy veered off and disappeared over the side, followed by a loud splash.

Jak slammed the gas pedal to the floor and zoomed off once more.

The track was a winding, badly marked road leading through low caves lit only by flickering torches, over rope bridges and through mud pits.

By the end of the first lap Jak had moved up a space, ramming the challenging buggy along the side of one of the caves.

Time passed in a blur of smeared rocks and dry plants. By the middle of the second lap Jak had moved up three spaces, leaving the offending buggies with a face full of dust.

Jak could make out Kleiver's sleek buggy speeding across an approaching rope bridge. Jak growled and slammed on the gas pedal. The Tough Puppy's tiny engine whined, almost like a complaining child. "Come on you piece of crap, move!"

The second lap ended with Jak in second place. He was coming up on Kleiver's cruel craft swiftly. His hair was a blaze of motion, flapping wildly in the sand-streaked wind. Jak's eyes narrowed behind his goggles. This was getting risky now. Now was the time that he had to concentrate as hard as possible.

Soon Kleiver and Jak were side by side. There was less that a quarter of the track left to cover. The screen on the dash flickered and Kleiver's sweaty face appeared. "You really think you can beat me newbie? I'm the greatest racer in Spargus! No one can beat me, and I won't let some outsider be the first one!"

"You ever met a guy named Errol?"

"Finish line's up in twenty seconds! You think you can beat me?"

"One way to find out!"

The bright red torches that marked the finish line became visible through the blinding screen of dust and debris.

Fifty feet…

"Dax, when I say, hit the 'Turbo' switch!"

Twenty feet…

"No way you'll beat me, scum!"

Fifteen feet…

"Wait for it Dax!"

Ten feet…

"NOW!"

The buggy shot forward with a sudden burst of speed. The cactuses, rocks, and torches all became a blur of one as Jak shot across the finish line just seconds ahead of Kleiver.

Daxter hopped up on Jak's shoulder and looked his friend in the eye, pulling up his goggles. "You're the man, Jak. You are the man." He held up his hand and made a gangsta-style symbol.

"Thanks Dax."

Kleiver's two-dimensional double pounded the screen thrice in frustration. "Gah! Don't get too cocky, newbie! I said you could keep that for as long as you live. Well, we'll just see how long that is mates!"

Several of the opposing racers pulled up around Jak.

"Oh by the way," Kleiver said, his face drawn up in a sardonic smile, "my 'friends' are what we call 'Marauders' in Spargus. And let's just say they don't like to lose. Good luck, mate."

Kleiver's buggy zoomed off in Spargus' direction. Kleiver laughed, and then the screen went dead.

"What the hell…?" Daxter said. As if to answer, the Marauder buggies rumbled, and wicked-looking turrets rose out of the tops.

"Oh sh…" –

A wave of Red Eco shots exploded from the buggies' blackened barrels. "Haul ass Jak!" Daxter screamed.

Jak needed no more prompting. The Tough Puppy's worn tires squealed as he slipped between two of the Marauder vehicles. Red Eco shot into the sand all around the buggy, some hitting the buggy itself and leaving black scorch marks.

Spargus' protecting gate loomed out of the blinding sand like a massive shadow. Jak could just make out Kleiver's buggy fly through the opened doors. And then the doors started closing. "OOH!!" Daxter cried, "why does this _always_ happen to us!?"

"Come on baby, come on!" Jak pleaded with the rumbling craft. The gate was so close now, just a couple more seconds.

The Tough Puppy slipped through the two-foot-thick gates just as they slammed shut behind them. From outside a massive explosion erupted up, and Jak could've sworn that he had heard one final scream beforehand.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7: Storms on the Horizon

Jak pulled down his sand-covered bandana with an annoyed grunt, brushing thick layer of dust from its scarlet surface. The doors to Kleiver's garage closed with a hiss, sending even more particles of dust into his literally sandy hair. He pulled his goggles back up to their regular positions, ignoring the smirks and suppressed laughter of anyone he passed on the uneven streets of the city. He had a guess at what he probably looked like: only the outline of his goggles and bandana, and all of the flesh under them was left clean, while the rest of his face was light-tan with a thin layer of dust. Jak ran his tongue along the outside of his teeth, pulling out grains of sand that had somehow made it through his bandana. Begrudgingly, he spat onto worn cobblestones that marked the streets, watching as the saliva slipped into a crevice between the rocks.

Daxter was busy picking particles of sand from his fur, muttering in aggravation. "Ugh, do you have any idea how long its gonna take me to wash this stuff outta my hair," he complained, scratching at his short orange pelt, sending even more sand into Jak's already gritty locks.

Kleiver had been nowhere in sight once they had made it into the garage. If he ever got his hands on that flabby oaf of an elf…

Jak stopped suddenly in the middle of the street as he found himself staring at his own reflection in the chest plate of none other than Damas himself. Jak tilted his head upward slowly to find the Wasteland King staring back down at him. Pecker, his "fingers" crossed in a mystical gesture, was also staring down with his usual superior air.

"I watched your race in the desert," Damas said as Jak stepped back, "nice wheel work. My advisor here says that you have vehicle skills." Damas tilted his shoulder slightly, jarring Pecker from his mystical pose.

Jak sighed inwardly with relief, "I can hold my own," he responded.

Pecker smirked from behind Damas' head, and leaned in, muttering in the king's ear, "This one will be of use to us Damas. I think you should keep him…" Pecker game one more superior smirk to Jak before adding "…for now."

Daxter stiffened and held out a threatening fist at the arrogant monkey-bird. "Can it, Pecker!"

"There are a number of artifacts to be found out in the desert," Damas rasped, "fresh storms churn the sands and reveal artifacts that have been buried for centuries. Take the vehicle and find as many items as you can before the storms come again." Damas pointed out beyond the sturdy gates of the city with his massive arm.

Jak nodded, not daring to argue with the Wasteland's great king. He turned back to go through the doors to the garage. Damas' voice followed him as the doors opened with an icy hiss.

"One more thing, if you get caught in the sands they will tear the flesh from your very bones."

Jak's stomach turned as he walked through the ominous doors. To him, those doors could be the gateway to his own death.

As the doors began to close behind him, Daxter had enough time to shout to the massive form of the king "Great! Thanks for the pep talk!"

_Moments later…_

The familiar wave of deathly hot air surged once more onto Jak's exposed flesh. Off to the west there was a great haze, blocking out everything beyond it. Even the sharp peaks that were the Wasteland mountains were barely visible as the massive storm slid over the landscape like a giant blanket.

The screen on the _Tough Puppy's_ dash board flickered as Damas' stone-hard image appeared. "To make it easier," he said, "each Precursor item gives off a unique signal that our satellites can pick up. The wrist map that Kleiver gave you should be able to pick them up. You best hurry, the storm is getting close."

The screen flickered again, and gave in to blackness.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Jak activated his map on his right arm. As the tiny map activated, Jak noticed several green blips flickering on the fuzzy readout. "I'm guessing that's them, Dax."

"Whatever you say Jak!" Daxter shouted from behind Jak's seat.

Minutes passed like seconds, each passing moment bringing the deadly storms closer and closer.

As the buggy grew steadily closer to the first of the Precursor items, Jak saw a small glowing object in the distance, half-buried by the roaring stands of the oncoming storm. Jak pressed his foot harder down on the rusted gas pedal of the buggy, his sensitive ears twitching uncomfortably as the grit-filled wind whistled through them.

The buggy drove over the item in one single line. Daxter took a moment to look back to where the item had been. "Hey, it's gone!" he said, rubbing several particles of sand from his reddening eyes.

"Damas said something about these buggies automatically collecting they drive over. Some kind of automatic scoop underneath or something."

Jak's attention was rudely jerked away from his wrist map by a single shot of Red Eco that made contact with the tip of the buggy's left roll bar, leaving a black scorch mark on its already battered frame.

"Jak," Daxter whimpered, frantically tapping the blonde elf on his free shoulder, "the bad boys are back!"

Jak peered back over the right side of the buggy's hull to see nearly a dozen tan vehicles, half visible in the steadily increasing winds in hot pursuit, hastily gaining on the small defenseless buggy. "Dammit!" Jak roared pounding his fist on the buggy's dented dash board, "just what we need!"

The frantic ride through the desert was more of an adrenaline rush than Jak had ever experienced before. The enormous expanse of the desert was almost inconceivable. He would have enjoyed it had it not been for the deadly storm rapidly approaching and the army of bloodthirsty Marauders nearly on his rear bumper. Jak hit the turbo button as he flew over a ruined bridge that crossed over one of the desert's few streams. The car landed safely on the other side, losing no speed as it continued its high-speed trek for Precursor items.

Several of the Marauder vehicles mimicked his action, most of them making it safely over the bridge, though nearly three of them had fallen into the four-foot high stream, momentarily stranded.

There was a sharp click as the buggy drove over another item. "Great, more junk," Daxter moaned as a fresh volley of bullets exploded around the buggy's frame.

"That was the last one," Jak yelled, ducking as a bullet clipped the side of the buggy.

The _Tough Puppy's _tiny engine was nearly choked with sand, sputtering and backfiring as Jak forced it to make a beeline for the city, following the bright burning beacon that shined at the pinnacle of Damas' palace, acting as a guiding light for all those lost in the desert.

Everything else was barely visible. The storm was upon them, readying to strike. Marauder projectiles were firing faster than ever now, a blazing ever-moving fireworks show of death.

Jak glanced down at his wrist map once more and gasped as nearly half of the screen was taken up by a moving haze. Could that possibly be the storm? It was closer than Jak could have imagined, the worst of it nearly a quarter mile off of him.

Spargus' gates popped into view as if out of thin air, a miracle if Jak had ever seen one. The fuel tanks had enough juice for one turbo charge left, and Jak used it to its full advantage.

What remained to be seen joined together into one long, solid blur of motion and sand as the buggy's front wheels lifted from the ground. Jak's hands were nearly glued to the wheel, turning it wildly; desperately trying to stay in line with the approaching gates.

The air was filled with the howl of the accursed storm baring down on them, the roaring fire of the dying engine's final burst, and the lessening explosions of fire from the Marauder's guns.

The gates were twenty feet off, opening slowly.

Jak looked back to see the Marauder vehicles swallowed alive by the churning tendrils of wind and sand.

The buggy slipped through the thick Precursor metal gates, which slammed shut the moment the last bit of the buggy slid through.

Jak forced the buggy into a power slide, careening across the expanse of the garage to stop feet from the entrance doors.

There was a massive howl as if let loose from some demonic creature. A thunderous wave of sand flooded over the outer gates, flying above the expanse of the city, never once roaring down to cover the inside.

Jak slid back in his seat, breathing heavily. His crystal blue eyes moved with the churning sands of the storm from behind his shaded goggles, noticing how much the churning waves of sand and windresembled the waves of the ocean.

Having accomplished his near suicidal mission, Jak allowed himself to slip back into the first bit of sleep he had had since he had arrived at Spargus.

_To be continued…_

**Ekobean: Yeah, I know I really raised the tension a lot more than it actually was in the game, but come on! The storm can tear the flesh off your bones, what do you expect? Besides, I like this. Review please!**


	8. Chapter 8: A Magnificent Gift

Jak awoke several hours later. Daxter was curled comfortably in his lap, his bright red tongue lolling out to the side as he snored softly.

Jak lifted his goggles from his hazy eyes to look up into the bright blue sky. The sun was setting in the west, painting a brilliant palette of orange, red, and yellow across the expansive canvas of the sky. Yawning, Jak leapt nimbly out of the buggy, Daxter grumbling irritably as he was jarred from his peaceful slumber.

"Good work," commented a familiar voice from behind. Jak turned to find Damas leaning against the polished wall of the garage on the opposite side of the buggy, his burly arms crossed across his barrel chest. Something was radically different about the overall air about him. His face was softer, no longer the stone-hard glare that usually was chiseled into it. Damas looked up at Jak with visible concern, looking his being up and down, searching for any wounds or damage. "That was…close…"

Pecker took flight from Damas' spiked shoulder pad to hover next to the king, mocking his rare tenderness. "Aww, are you beginning to care?" Pecker taunted in a mockingly sweet coo, his heavy Spanish accent transforming it into a curving drawl. Pecker turned to Jak and the awakening Daxter on his shoulder. "Damas says" –

The yapping monkey-bird was cut short as Damas' massive hand shot out, curling around his mug. Pecker began struggling wildly, shouting out muffled protests as he flapped his arms/wings wildly in a vain attempt to escape.

Damas' face had resumed its normal hateful gaze, his cold blue eyes falling back upon Jak after fixing Pecker with a 'Never-mock-me' glare. "My concern was for the artifacts," he barked, "and we will use them well." Damas, his arm still held erect with the protesting Pecker clasped at the end of it, marched up to the rear end of the _Tough Puppy_ and kicked the rear storage compartment.

A small metal flap opened up, spilling out its contents (about six Precursor items and nearly two pounds of sand) onto the hard stone floor of the garage. Damas bent down and retrieved a pair of strange-looking items. Dusting them off briefly, he shoved them into Jak's hands. "This armor is very rare indeed," Damas jostled his still-stiff arm. Pecker, who had long since given up the struggle, was momentarily shaken, his arms/wings crossed in annoyance. "Pecker here says that it is the very same armor Mar once wore in his battles for this planet long ago. Keep it for yourself. Trust me, you'll need it."

Jak and Daxter looked up from their new gift simultaneously to gaze in surprise at the Desert King. This armor was Mar's…Jak's own ancestor! And here it was now, in the hands of his heir. Such a coincidence.

Jak looked back down at the items in his hands, weighing them, sizing them up. They seemed like they would fit perfectly. Judging by the shape, they were armor for the arms. Gently, Jak loosened the tanned Yakow hide straps and bound the artifacts around his forearms. Wearing the very armor of Mar, Jak felt that he could defeat an entire army of Metal Heads with such powerful artifacts on his side.

Jak tore his eyes away long enough to look into Damas' hard, yet approving eyes. Jak bowed graciously, thanking Damas in his actions. Jak then left for the exit, watching as the new armor glistened in the settingsun.

As Jak marched along the uneven cobblestones of the city, he began to wonder why Damas would give him, and outsider, such magnificent gifts. Truly, they were rightfully his, but Damas didn't know that Jak was Mar's heir. Why, he wondered…

The pale face of the Precursor Monk seemed to materialize out of nowhere among the choked streets of Spargus, her red eyes, so deep and bottomless, asked the very same question that her colorless lips demanded. "You are still here?" she hissed, patting a fat Leaper at her side.

"Yeah, we thought we'd hang out," Jak retorted, setting his hands defiantly on his hips, smirking, "catch some rays."

"_This isn't a game!"_ the ferocity in the monk's voice was so icy, so bitter that even Jak was taken aback, looking into his friend's equally surprised face. "I am Seem," the monk hissed, her whispery voice reminiscent of the soft Autumn wind blowing through the ancient trees of Haven Forest. "We monks are sworn to discover and protect the secrets of the Precursors." The monk named Seem turned to the Leaper casually grazing on the coarse weeds that grew through the cracks in the cobblestones. "These Leaper mounts allow us to travel where you cannot."

Daxter hopped down from Jak's shoulder to examine the Leaper, dark blue in color, at close range. "Man, those things can sure stuff their faces." He said, laying his gloved paws on his furry stomach before turning to look up at Seem. "We saw one gulp a load of Kanga Rats a while ago." Daxter snickered at the thought. "Stupid rats! They just sat there and then – AHHHH!"

Daxter screamed as the Leaper behind him, sensing an easy meal, scooped him up into its drooling maw. However, Daxter was fortunately slightly larger than a Kanga Rat. His incessant trail of curses and wild flailing sent the Leaper running up and down the ally, trying to gulp down the pesky little morsel.

Jak, seeing his friend was in no immediate danger, turned his attention back to Seem, who was equally undisturbed by Daxter's present position. "You will never last out here," she said as much to herself as to Jak. "That Dark Eco crystal from the satellite," Jak noticed her eyes move slowly to his satchel, "I want it before it falls into the wrong hands." Before Jak could resist she added "I'll wager a Light Crystal against it if you race my monks on their Leapers."

As the Leaper made its next pass down the ally, trying to choke down the wiggling ball of fluff that was Daxter, Seem raised her hand and hissed "Sien-con-tava." The Leaper stopped immediately and heaved, spitting Daxter out head first at her feet. Seem bowed her head respectfully to the beast, her hands clasped together, and whispered softly "Baroosh…baroosh…"

Daxter, pushing himself up from the gritty stones of the street, dripping with long, gooey strands of saliva, growled to the High Priestess in a voice of pure and unending hatred "Just tell us where the starting line is!"

**Ekobean: Ha! Two chapters in two days! I'm on a roll! (dances like a buffoon). This has to be one of my most favorite cutscenes in the game, so give me lots of reviews. Good or bad, it doesn't matter. I just like reviews. Thankies! **


	9. Chapter 9: The Day Star

The rhythmic pumps of the Leaper's massive lungs beat against the insides of Jak's legs. Each beat was long and calm, almost soothing. It was a nice vacation from the rough vibration that emanated from a dune buggy's engine. The Leaper's padded feet clicked softly against the uneven cobblestone's of Spargus' streets, the sharp talons protruding from them tapping in a monotonous rhythm.

A group of about five Leapers were standing in two straight lines. Upon each Leaper was seated the thin, pale frame of a monk. Jak pulled his own Leaper's reins back, slowing the bipedal lizard to a stop in the one free space in the back of the pack.

Several monks looked back and nodded, silently acknowledging his presence, their deep, dreamy eyes never once blinking in the intense glare of sun. Seem padded silently up to the front of the pack, her silent yet commanding demeanor drawing every competitor's attention to her. "My monks," she whispered softly, then turned her hairless head to Jak. Her tone, though barely audible, held the slightest edge of resentment as she hissed, "outsider. You will race upon your mounts to the marketplace in South Spargus. I will await your arrival there." Having finished her instructions, the high priestess bowed her head. Each monk in the group returned the gesture in perfect unison.

Jak slid a sidelong glance to the orange Ottsel on his shoulder, who returned the look, stifling a smirk.

Rows of onlookers and curious citizens were forming along the sidelines of the race track, marked by low-burning candles set ten feet apart, their weak flames flickering nearly invisible in the dim sunlight. Seem slid one final, unwelcoming glance at Jak, and then disappeared into the wall of onlookers.

Daxter, not one to be ignored, stood upright on Jak's shoulder pad, clearing his throat in a very professional way. "On your monk," he said, attracting slightly annoyed glances from the monks' misty eyes, "get set…RIDE!"

The Leaper mounts seemed to understand the meaning of the word, for they were off in a heartbeat, nearly knocking Daxter from his perch. Though they weren't nearly as fast as a dune buggy, the Leapers' speed was overwhelming. Dust and gravel were kicked up from the beaten roads by their leathery feet, spewed up like a cloud of mist in Haven Forest.

Rider and mount seemed connected by pure thought alone. Jak barely had to tug on the reins for the Leaper to turn or slow, it seemed to read his thoughts and act upon them.

Jak soon found that the race's track was anything but a clear cut path. It zigged and zagged so frequently that many times the Leaper mounts had to skid, their scaley hides nearly scraping the rugged ground to keep from drifting outside the candles.

The outsider was at the middle of the pack caught in a dense formation of puffing Leapers and steely-eyed monks. This caught him in a hairy position. With three Leapers crammed around him, he could barely see the track. Then again, maybe that was what the monks wanted. _Screw playing by the rules here, Jak, _he told himself_, if these guys aren't playing fair, neither are you._

In the distance Jak could make out the row of candles traveling up a lone set of stairs in a remote corner of the city. At the rate this was going, Jak and the Leaper would be smashed against the side as the rest of the monks stayed on, being able to easily break away. The thought filled Jak with anger. They could rot, for all he cared!

Gathering all the expertise he had gained from the races in Haven a year past, Jak maneuvered the Leaper into a hard right, forcing the monk out to the side. The Leaper was positioned into a slight tilt, its body pushing hard against the opposing monk's beast.

The monk's clear, sapphire eyes grew wide as he realized what Jak was doing. The albino began to retaliate, trying to force his own Leaper to fight back. But Jak's position was too strong. Twelve feet from the stair case the monk's Leaper tripped. The falling beast let out a terrified howl as it and its rider toppled over, rolling in the gravel and awkward stones before skidding to a halt.

Daxter whooped joyfully and playfully batted at Jak's ear. "One down! You're the man, Jak!"

The five remaining Leapers scuttled up the staircase as a tidal wave of puffing reptilian and elfin bodies, the rhythmic stomps of their clawed feet clacking hollowly on the carved stone. At the peak of the staircase the Leapers launched into the air, their powerful legs sending them sailing twenty feet before reaching the peak of their jumps. As their pumping bodies began to fall, the mounts instinctively outstretched their miniscule wings, gaining them several more seconds in the air. The thin membrane that laced between each Leaper's digit batted easily at the air, creating a distinct whistling noise as they sliced through the thick desert wind.

The Leapers legs came together suddenly, bracing themselves for the return to the ground. They were already running before touching down, the ground around them dancing as the 200-pound beasts struck down. The crowd, whipped into ecstatic excitement, cheered and jeered as the remaining competitors whipped past them, the inevitable cloud of sand following soon after.

Jak had immediately taken third, his Leaper letting out an excited shriek as it passed the two. Jak took a moment to took over his shoulder, trusting the Leaper's instinct to follow the remaining beasts in front of it.

The look on the monks' powdered faces were priceless. Their sapphire-like eyes were squinted into slits, their lips curled back to reveal a perfect line of alabaster teeth soiled by the cloud of sand and dust.

Chuckling to himself, Jak turned his head back to the race track, his blue eyes fluttering against the wind whipping his eyelashes and face. His hair was waving like a sea of golden grain in a tornado, the strands curling over each other like a living flame.

The racetrack led through the single ally of the city which served as a passage between the two city sections. Startled citizens leapt back in surprise, quickly scampering outside the low-burning candles. Their angry outbursts were whipped away by the incessant wind blowing through every corner of the competitors' ears.

As the race lead out of the allyway the air took on a new, briny smell. The smell was a welcome change over the stuffy, rank scent of the previous city's section. The ocean's vast, dark blue expanse folded out before them, in the distance connecting with the distant horizon to form one clean, unbroken wall of blue.

Jak's Leaper acting out of sheer power had managed to take second, and was moving in on first. "Come on, boy!" Jak yelled encouragingly to the Leaper, leaning down to the animal's neck, running his hand over its scaly hide. "We're almost there!"

The Leaper seemed to understand Jak's motivation, for its speed steadily increased. Soon they were passing the last monk, despite the monk's scrunched, pale face.

Daxter managed to peel his eyes from the track to blow the very last monk a kiss.

The candles ended in the middle of the market place. Roughly twenty five citizens were crowded around the finish line cheering on the leader. And just like that, it ended. The Leaper's streamlined body skidded past the last row of candles, spilling hot wax over the worn cobblestones.

"Oh yeah!" Jak cheered, throwing his hands triumphantly into the air.

"Hah!" Daxter thundered, waving a taunting finger at the incoming monks, "we kicked your scaly tails!"

One of the Leapers took a snap at Daxter's outstretched finger as it passed. Daxter immediately recoiled, his fur rising on the back of his neck. "Back off, ya filthy animal!"

"Fine, hero."

Jak immediately froze, turning around to see Seem standing calmly beside him. She had appeared suddenly, as if out of thin air. The young High Priestess reached into a satchel slung over her shoulder and drew out a shining Light Eco crystal. Unlike the rough-hewn edges of the Dark ones, the Light Eco crystal's edges were smooth and cleanly cut, almost in a teardrop formation.

"The crystal is yours."

Seem softly placed the crystal in Jak's hand. "The two types, Light and Dark, when combined form great energies."

Nodding, Jak peered into the depths of the crystal. As he stared he noticed that deep in the center there were bubbles. Contained inside was pure Light Eco. Jak shook the crystal lightly and heard the tiniest sound of liquids sloshing within its depths.

Seem's normally soft, whispering voice took on a sharp, icy edge. "_Be careful with them!_ And," she added, "when you die, do be kind enough to give them back."

"I don't plan on it," Jak retorted, dropping the crystal safely into his pocket. "Why are you so obsessed with death?" he inquired after a moment.

Seem's hard eyes seemed to soften a bit, but her voice maintained its thin hiss. "Because of _that."_ The Priestess turned from Jak and pointed spitefully up into the sky.

Jak followed her finger up into the clear blue sky. For the first time, Jak noticed a large bright star in the sky. Its movements didn't seem right. It moved slowly, its flares waving from side to side like seaweed. Almost artificial…

"The Day Star approaches and every day it grows brighter," Seem said, her finger falling to her side. "This planet's final trial is coming."

Jak wanted to look back down from the star, wanted to ask Seem what she meant, but he couldn't. He felt almost connected to the Day Star, unable to tear his gaze from its waving depths. There was something about it, some unseen force that held him, transfixed in its gaze. There was something new at work here. Something he felt, with a certainty he could not explain, that would dwarf all other challenges he had faced before…

_To be continued…_


	10. Chaper 10: Metal Heads in the Desert

The Leaper's padded feet clacked noisily against Spargus' worn cobblestones. The obsidian claws, worn by a lifetime of running and racing, clicked nervously as it came to a stop. Before them was the entrance to Kleiver's garage. A high, nervous gurgle rolled up from the bipedal lizard's bottomless gullet as Jak dismounted.

Jak patted his faithful mount's scaly nose reassuringly. "There, there, K. It's alright. I won't be gone long." The female leaper, characterized by the deep shade of blue, as opposed to the lighter green males, gurgled peacefully, blinking its great, black eyes.

With a final pat Jak turned from his mount to the shining metal doors, already opening at his approach. Daxter groaned as they walked through the circular entrance way. Kleiver was already waiting for them, his polished scepter clutched in his sausage-like fingers.

Kleiver had contacted Jak about half an hour after the race. The fat elf had said he had a little "job" that they might be interested in. Now, by the look on his face, Jak was convinced that he had concocted something that would seal the blonde elf's fate.

_Too late to back out now,_ Jak thought hesitantly.

As they approached their overweight benefactor, Kleiver's bulging eyes rolled up from his prized scepter, narrowing as Jak approached. His colorless lips drew back over his yellowing teeth into an oddly jolly grin. "You boys looking for a bit of action?" he crooned, turning his scepter absent-mindedly in his hand. "The scope shows a group of Metal Heads moving through the desert not too far from here." At the mentioning of Metal Heads Jak felt his furry companion stiffen on his armored shoulder.

Kleiver's unusually jolly expression disappeared, replaced by his usual murderous scowl. The fat elf lunged forward menacingly, forcing Jak back a couple feet. "I don't like Metal Heads," he growled, "almost as much as I don't like _you!_" Kleiver thrust his pointed scepter forward, just missing Jak's head by an inch. "And," he added, thrusting his fat finger into Jak's chest, "you've got some proving to do! Intercept those bad boys and give 'em hell. Who knows, maybe you'll just get a few toys for your effort."

Daxter slowly leaned forward, pressing Kleiver for details without getting too close to the dangerously sharp scepter. "Why does it sound like you're leaving out all the dangerous stuff?" Daxter's tiny pupils shifted to his friend, "Jak," he said, his voice straining, "I'm getting some nasty juju vibes here. I ain't got these whiskers for nothin' ya know!"

"Relax," Jak said, rolling his eyes, "we can handle a few Metal Heads."

Kleiver's face drew back, his eyes once again turning to his gleaming scepter. "You ever _seen_ a Wasteland Metal Head?" he asked the two friends, his milky eyes glittering.

Daxter's brows rose suspiciously. "No…why?"

Kleiver shrugged, placing his scepter at his feet. "Nothing, just wondering."

Satisfied, Jak began toward one of the dune buggies in the garage's corner. Daxter was still looking back at Kleiver suspiciously, his oversized eyes reduced to mere slits. Yet even as the two began toward the buggy, they heard Kleiver's cocky, sarcastic voice hiss "Go get 'em, _heroes._"

_Five minutes later…_

The familiar wave of hot wind rolled through Jak's hair, tormenting his exposed skin with its dry heat and the miniature missiles that were the sand particles caught in its firm grasp. The wind was much less severe than Jak's last outing into the Wasteland in which he had nearly been swallowed by a monstrous storm, but it was bothersome nonetheless to be caught in a whirling vortex of intense heat.

The buggy's powerful engine hummed noisily as it roared across the shifting dunes. For some odd reason, Kleiver had actually given Jak permission to ride in one of the better vehicles; the ones he had said were for the "big boys." Though scarcely larger than the _Tough Puppy_, this new buggy was better by all possible means. The steel frame was polished and carefully crafted. The powerful engine was covered by a thick cover of tough metal spray-painted a bright shade of yellow. The tires were obviously changed frequently, seeing as how the thick treads on them were nearly in mint condition.

The seats were comfortable and cushioned, dark gray in color. The dash board was not much different from that of the _Tough Puppy._ Decorated with numerous switches and buttons of red and silver, each with a printed label screwed into the dash. The majority of the dash, as with the other buggy, was taken up by a large TV screen. Unlike the other buggy, however, this one was clean and solid; completely free of fingerprints or cracks. At the moment Jak was looking at that very screen, scanning the colorful map layout on it.

The three Metal Heads, represented by large; red blips, were moving surprisingly fast, apparently scouring the dunes for any Precursor artifacts they could get their grimy hands on.

"How much farther Jak?" Daxter whimpered, wiping a bit of sand from his sensitive nose. "I wanna get this over with!"

"Not much farther," said Jak, tapping the screen, "according to this they should be just over this dune."

Daxter's mood visibly brightened. "Alright!" he hooted, slapping his gloved paws together in anticipation.

As they approached the edge of the dune Jak slowed their vehicle. He wanted the element of surprise with these Metal Heads. Something about Kleiver's tone had disturbed him. If there was something different about these Metal Heads, he didn't want to go rushing in.

As the buggy reached the top of the dune, Jak's fears were confirmed. Badly. Jak gasped, his hand tightening on the wheel, sweat pouring down his forehead. Daxter could only stare, his strong jaw hanging limp at its hinges.

Before them, in the distance, were three _gigantic_ Metal Heads, no, Metal Monsters stampeding around the desert's ever-moving dunes. Even from their distance, a good fifty meters, Jak and Daxter could feel the massive footfalls of these monsters as their dinosaur-like feet slammed down on the desert's harsh sands.

The creatures were bipedal, almost resembling gigantic, vicious Leapers. They were dark green in color and covered in thick scales from their heads to their tales. Atop their backs were massive, shining turrets leaking with Dark Eco, swiveling about, perhaps searching for anyone or anything that would interrupt their hosts. Anything like, perhaps, a blonde elf in a dune buggy with a shivering weasel in the seat next to him. The only thing that made these monsters even reminiscent of Metal Heads were the massive Skull Gems set in their heads, the mark of a Metal Head.

Jak was shaken from his shock-induced daze by Daxter, tugging desperately at his had. "Hey Jak," he said, "come on, let's go. We can't take these things and you know it! Let's go when we're still alive!"

Jak shook his head. "No. We can take these guys. Besides, I want to know what they're doing. It almost looks like they're looking for something." Jak snuck a furtive glance up at the Day Star, shining brightly in the deep blue sky.

Without waiting for a response from Daxter, Jak immediately floored the gas peddle, abandoning the element of surprise for pure brute force. Clouds of dust and sand rose up from the buggy's heavy tires, spinning softly in the air before settling as if unchanged back onto the dunes. Jak immediately directed the buggy toward the closest monster, oblivious to Daxter's screams of protest. To him, the entire world was only himself, the buggy, and the three Metal Heads. About ten meters from the nearest one, a twenty foot tall brute, Jak opened up on it. As he tightened his grip on the triggers built in to the steering wheel, hundreds of small, piercing bullets streamed forth from the machine guns mounted on the buggy's front. Milliseconds later the beast reared back, setting loose a bloodcurdling roar that could be heard all the way back at Spargus.

Hundreds of needle-sharp projectiles plunged into the scaly flesh of the monster's legs, each creating a tiny dribble of purple blood which soaked into the drifting sand below. The creature, driven mad by rage and pain, began to charge at its assailant, ignoring the steady stream of bullets sinking into its torso and neck. Seconds before impact Jak made a hard left, nimbly dodging the thing's rage-induced assault.

The elf skillfully maneuvered the buggy into facing the halting monster without losing any momentum and continued the unmerciful assault.

The Metal Head's bloodshot eyes glowed with a strange light. All at once the massive turret strapped to its back jumped to life.

"Uh oh."

A large, pulsating ball of Dark Energy flew from the turret's singed mouth. The projectile missed the buggy by mere inches, but it caused the frame to tilt horribly, and Jak thought for one horrible second that they would tip. But, just as it seemed assured, the buggy regained control and landed smoothly on its thick, black tires, ready for action.

The creature roared even louder and charged again, this time slower. It seemed as though its wounds were beginning to take affect. Jak wasted no time exploiting this weakness. Another, fresh volley of bullets flew from his guns, smacking into every bit of the Metal Head that could be reached.

The creature lurched, tripping over its own massive feet. With a terrible roar of fear, it toppled, rolling down the side of the dune to the feet of one of the Wasteland mountains. It continued breathing for about ten seconds, then lurched once more, as if fighting for the life it in no way deserved, then slumped, its massive head digging into the shifting sand.

Satisfied, Jak floored the pedal once more, following the red blip to his next target. This one was close, very close. As they approached, the beast turned. It was a great deal smaller than its counterpart, perhaps by five feet. The battle took only minutes. The turret set on the creature's back had malfunctioned, and in the end the contents had leaked from it, searing into its unprotected back. In a way, the Metal Head had been killed by its own weapon.

The buggy was not sounding good at all. The engine, wracked by numerous collisions and hard turns, was beginning to slow and sputter. Jak only hoped against hope that it had enough life to take down their last target. And as the last of them came into view, Jak's hopes were increased tenfold.

This creature was standing in a clearing, its head held up high, gazing up at the windblown mountains before it. Where the other two had immediately charged at seeing the buggy approaching, this one simply stood there, its large, red eyes watching him, waiting for the attack. As Jak approached, he fully realized just how big this creature was. He dwarfed his companions easily, perhaps thirty feet high at is shoulder. One other thing that Jak noticed was that he carried no turret on his back, only a saddle-like structure with numerous pouches and bags thrown over it.

The dune buggy stopped about twenty meters from the Metal Head. This one was the leader, the most experienced of the group. This was obvious by its demeanor. And by the way that it only sat and watched, waiting for Jak to make the first move, it had some experience with combat as well.

For about a minute the two simply sat there, staring each other down, oblivious to the hot waves of sand and wind that tossed about them like micro-tornadoes. When the tension was unbearable, the thought of waiting too much to bear, the pair charged. The buggy's wheels spun against the sand, leaving huge clouds of sand it its wake.

The Metal Head's footfalls became louder and harder, causing the whole buggy to shake with each step.

The buggy's turrets fired up immediately, the tiny, piercing bullets sinking into the leader's flesh. The creature winced slightly, but kept coming, unaffected by the volley of bullets.

As before, mere feet from the creature, Jak made a sharp turn to the left. However, something happened this time that he had not expected. The creature jumped, sailing backward…and landing right in front of the buggy. It had predicted Jak's move. There was no time to react, not time to do anything except continue to unleash the buggy's solid death into the creature's hide. Roaring, the creature lowered its head into the oncoming vehicle and, with a wide, sweeping arc, sent the buggy flipping backward.

The vehicle was airborne, flipping madly through the air in a spiraling arc across the field. With its screaming passengers still strapped inside, the hurtling craft slammed top-first into the side of a dune.

Jak groaned, touching his hand to his head, feeling the warm blood oozing from a deep gash.

"Dax…you alright?"

A quiet groan was the only answer.

"Dax?"

Doing his best to ignore the pain, Jak forced himself to look at the seat next to him. Daxter was only semiconscious, his head slumping to one side, red tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"Daxter! Come on, buddy, wake up!"

At that moment something froze Jak just as he was reaching over to unbuckle his friend. Something that made his blood run cold: footsteps. The sand below Jak's head shook, running slowly down the side of the dune like a small landslide. Jak turned his head wildly, searching for the source while desperately trying to unhook his seat belt. One massive, three-toed foot landed beside him, shaking the buggy more than ever. A thin stream of blood oozed down the side of the leg, sinking into the crevices and cracks in the scaly flesh.

All of a sudden there was another sound, something that would spell doom for the both of them. It wasn't the sound of gunshots or the sound of Marauder motors. Hell, it wasn't even the Metal Head's horrifying roar. It was the sound of teeth. Teeth crushing and tearing, teeth chewing and biting their way to their goal. The sound of teeth tearing through the buggy's metal underside.

_To be continued…_

**Yeah, yeah, I know. Another "to be continued." But trust me, it builds suspense. Besides, you are going to LOVE what comes next. And it won't take a billion years to update, I promise. **


	11. Chapter 11: A Desperate Battle

**Well, here we are. It took forever even though I promised it wouldn't, but whatever. I hope you enjoy. Thank you everyone for your kind reviews. I'll work as fast as I can from now on.**

The buggy swayed side to side, jerking violently with each of the giant Metal Head's motions. Jak was doing his best to stay calm, to keep his head together. He had to get out of his seat, this thing holding him helpless while the wrath of a wounded Metal Monster bore closer and closer to him. He had to get free, had to draw this thing away from the buggy and his unconscious friend.

The jerking was becoming much more violent, the earsplitting sound of tearing metal growing louder and louder, each jerk becoming more unbearable than the last. Jak's fingers were becoming numb. They felt like gloves filled with gelatin, limp and useless.

"Come on, you son of a bitch!" he hissed, hot tears beginning to roll up his forehead and mingling with the collection of sweat gathering at his hairline. "Come _on!_" Gripping the straps with his hands, Jak began to pull. His lips pulled back over his gritty teeth, a low growl escaping from his throat. He had to break the straps. His knuckles were turning white, the palms feeling as if they were on fire. "Come on!"

The straps broke suddenly, giving in at last. Jak fell from his cushioned seat face first in the sand below him. Had the situation been different, he would have whooped with glee. But it wasn't. There was a bloodthirsty Metal Head the size of a Freedom League Hellcat baring down on Daxter and himself, slowly but surely tearing through layer after layer of metal to reach them.

Wasting no time, Jak drew his gun and equipped its Blaster mod from his satchel. Without a second thought the blonde elf crept out from under the rapidly decaying buggy. This was risky.

As soon as he pulled himself out from under the buggy, once again in the full force of the desert's hot winds, he turned to face the attacker. The Metal Head was looming over the like a prehistoric predator over its prey. One of its massive, three-toed feet was pushing down on the buggy, holding it in place for it to rip apart with its dagger-sharp teeth. Apparently this Metal Head, so intent on tearing into the vehicle, had not yet noticed that he had escaped. At this point there was only one thing that Jak could do.

Activating the laser sight equipped on the gun's barrel, Jak took careful aim, pointing the laser sight right onto the side of the monster's armored head. "Hey!" Jak yelled, not once taking his eyes off of his target. The Metal Head halted, its fanged maw frozen in mid-tear. Slowly, its massive, crocodile-like head turned, a deep, heard-rending hiss escaping from its bowels.

Jak pulled the trigger the moment the creature was looking straight at him. The projectile was dead on. The small ball of concentrated Yellow Eco flew from the barrel like a comet. The Metal Head roared and toppled backward, a smoking crater seared into its forehead where the Yellow Eco had struck. The creature hit the ground with considerable force, landing on its side. The buggy and the dunes around it shook with the impact, as if the entire desert were trembling with fear.

Ten seconds passed, each of them feeling like an eternity. These Metal Heads were smart, and even the simplest of creatures knew how to play dead. Jak's heart felt like it was going to explode. Wiping his sweaty palms on his sand-stained pants, Jak grasped the handle of his Blaster and pointed aimed at the creature's dark green side, the red laser site wavering slightly from his shaking hands.

It took all of his nerve to pull the trigger. Another small ball of yellow fire erupted from the Blaster's mouth. It made impact with the creature's side, scorching the windblown scales like a burn left by a torch. Jak held his breath, his crystal eyes locked on the behemoth before him. There was no reaction, not even a cracked talon on the creature's colossal toe twitched.

Without hesitation Jak replaced the Blaster into its holster on his back and took off at full speed toward the buggy. His steel-toed boots sunk deep into the dune wherever he stepped, slowing him slightly, but he took no notice. He had to get Daxter out and get back to Spargus, buggy or no buggy.

Jak leaned back and slid down the dune's face to the ruined form of the buggy, still gleaming in the midday sun. Jak stopped himself as he neared the vehicle. The twenty-year-old elf scrambled to the Ottsel's side and peeked in, his breath fast and ragged. "Dax?" he whispered, not daring to get his hopes up.

The orange Ottsel stirred, one of his bulbous eyes opening halfway to gaze maliciously at his friend. "I'm gonna kill you," he said. The sound of his high-pitched voice brought more relief to Jak's heart than he had ever known. "What did I tell ya?" Daxter groaned slightly as he slid out from behind the seat belt. "That Kleiver guy is bad news! Anyone who looks _that much_ like Krew is bad news!" Daxter's babble continued as he haphazardly clambered out from under the buggy's ruined frame. "Next time I tell you something, trust Orange Lightning and DO IT!"

"Sorry," Jak said, raising his bandana to hide his growing smirk. "I was afraid I had lost ya, Dax."

"Lost me?" Daxter scoffed, kicking his feet in the hot sand. "It takes more than a few puny Metal Heads to finish off this Ottsel, let me tell ya!"

Daxter's boastful words were cut tragically short, his perky ears drooping, his eyes glazing over in a look of pure, unimagined horror. His short, orange fur was standing on end, quivering like a mouse before a cat.

Jak's sky-blue eyes traveled slowly to the side, his teeth crushing down on his bottom lip. He already knew what was wrong. The Metal Head wasn't dead. He could just imagine it, its monstrous form looming over him, strings of gooey saliva sliding between the rows of jagged, yellowing teeth.

In one second Jak had already turned completely around, the Blaster weapon armed and ready in his white-knuckled hands. It was as he had feared. The Metal Head was up and ready, its large red eyes, completely lacking any pupils staring down on him with a deep, burning hatred.

Jak's finger pulled down hard on the trigger three times, unleashing three mini fireballs of Yellow Eco, spiraling like comets through the baking desert air into the Metal Head's rough, scaly hide. Three black spots were left where the projectiles struck like small craters in the desert's beaten flesh.

The Metal Head roared again, flinging its Leaper-sized head into the air with a cry of pain and fury.

"Run Daxter!" Jak yelled, scooping his friend up onto his shoulder as he himself took to his feet in a mad sprint for survival.

He didn't look back when the Metal Head's roar stopped, nor when its thunderous footsteps began to shake the desert sands beneath his feet, growing louder and more powerful with each step.

He knew what he had to do. His present arsenal was not enough to hold back this creature powered only by hate and bloodlust. He needed a force just as brutish, an instinct and cunning just as animalistic as the monstrosity that hunted him. He needed the creature that plagued his nightmares, the voice that forever haunted the back of his mind. The embodiment of his own id, Dark Jak.

Jak had not transformed since the first day in the arena. That single transformation had used up the remaining reserves of Dark Eco flowing through his bloodstream. He needed a new source, enough Dark Eco to generate the transformation, the only thing that could save his own life, as well as his friends. There was only one source of Dark Eco out in the desert at the moment. He had to find the bodies of the defeated Metal Heads and the Dark Eco-powered guns strapped to their backs.

Jak was running for the Wasteland mountains, the closest one coming up fast. He hoped that with luck its craggy, windblown sides would provide enough protection until he could find the Metal Head that had passed away beside the mountain.

The mountain loomed up suddenly like a match struck in a pitch black cave. Hope began to burn brighter in Jak's heart. Five feet from the side of the mountain, Jak came to a sliding halt, his boots kicking frantically at the loose sand. Not two seconds after Jak had resumed his sprint, the enraged Metal Head slammed into the side of the mountain, its massive body shattering the carefully shaped rock forged over centuries of life in the unforgiving desert. The Metal Head growled maliciously, shattering a solid rock in its gaping maw.

With a hiss the monster continued its unrelenting assault.

After nearly ten minutes of rolling, sliding, and dodging, the first Metal Head's body appeared out of the rapidly increasing wind.

Despite his pounding lungs, his legs begging him to stop, Jak forced his ravaged body to speed up. Just a little farther.

He reached the Metal Head's body, already half-buried in the rapidly changing desert landscape. Panting heavily, he began to climb up the Metal Head's smooth, scaled body. The sparking turret was strapped motionless on the dead creature's back, exactly the same as before. A thin stream dark, bubbling Eco leaked from its base like a poisoned stream. At the moment, it was the most beautiful thing Jak had ever seen. With one final, desperate look back at the approaching Metal Head, Jak plunged his hand into the stream, wincing as the acidic substance spread over his willing flesh.

The footfalls, growing ever louder, suddenly stopped. Jak knew, even as his mind began to sink back before the oncoming _other_ mind, that this was closer to death than he had ever come in his life.

Jak felt the changes spread over his sand-scarred body. His exposed, peeling tan skin began to fade, as if he had sustained a wound so horrible that every drop of blood flowed from it like a crimson waterfall. Jak gasped almost spasmodically from behind his red bandana. His canines lengthened to nearly an inch in length, growing deadly sharp.

His fingernails likewise darkened into an abysmal shade of onyx. The wiry muscles behind his torn tunic bulged and stretched, the fibers of his coat straining at the sudden gain of muscle mass. Dark Jak threw his head back and roared as the obsidian horns sprouted forcefully through the soft skin of his forehead. A thunderstorm of Dark Energy shot forth from his body, blackening the surrounding sand in his presence.

Even as he roared the dark entity felt the Metal Head falter, it's puny mind dumbfounded by the sudden, unexplainable metamorphosis that had taken place in its previously helpless prey. Dark Jak's nose twitched, taking in the pathetically short array of scents that were carried across the hot, dead air of the desert. Sand, Leapers, salt water, fresh water, a few dried plants, and of course the spilled blood of Metal Heads. But there was another, strong scent. The smell of uncertainty, of possible fear. This new smell radiated off of the leader of this small, pathetic band of Hora-Quan that now stood behind him.

That smell drove him crazy. In the wild, predators can sense fear in their prey. That smell indicates weakness, and possible mistakes that can be made. Though this was not the wild, Dark Jak was a hunter, a survivor, in the pit of his tortured soul. He was not going to fall at the feet of this cowardly beast. He would tear its throat out, slash it to ribbons, make it fall upon its knees and beg for mercy in its own tongue.

Without warning, Dark Jak leapt into action as he had against the waves of Krimzon Guards he had slaughtered in past adventures. The Metal Head had barely enough time to realize that his prey was upon _him_, slashing _him_ like some sort of mutated tick that would not relent.

The Metal Head shook furiously, snapping at the foaming creature of Dark Energy and raw fury that had once been a fleeing elf. It bucked and galloped, twisting and raving, letting out roars of pain and fury that could be heard all the way back to Spargus.

Dark Jak was on back of the Metal Heads neck, sinking his fangs into the steel-hard scales, trying to rip them away in his bloodlust. The Metal Head, half-crazed in fury, bucked again, spilling the foaming creature onto the sand below it. Dark Jak landed on his back like a cat thrown to the ground by an abusive master. A split second later the Metal Head's three-toed foot fell down upon him, crushing the air from his lungs.

Dark stared up into his attacker's eyes, the pupil-less yellow-and-red orbs rolling wildly in its skull. Dark roared with what little air was left in his chest. He slashed vainly at the creature's leg, raking his talons across the jagged, rough scales. Each slash left four deep scratches in the tough plating similar to fingernails across wood.

For all his rage, all of his hell-bent fury, Dark Jak could not budge the rock hard package of muscle, blood, bone, and scale baring down on him; as thick as a tree. Dark Jak knew, even if he was not ready to admit it to himself yet, that this Metal Head had him in a death hold. It was slowly but surely squeezing the life from him, pressing him down into the needle-like sand of the Wasteland.

His vision was beginning to blur. His powerful lungs screamed for air, heaving and sagging in his barrelish chest. The reptilian face of the Metal Head was beginning to fade, blur at the edges like a pencil drawing in water.

And still Dark Jak clawed at the creature's treelike calf, searching desperately for something, _anything_, to cause it enough pain to let him go. If he could just find an opening –

And suddenly he struck gold. His claws, still desperately slashing, fell into several small crevasses each about an inch deep. The bullet holes.

Dark Jak wasted no time, especially when he had very little time left to waste. He shoved his three-inch-long claws deep into the ugly craters, pulsing with runny purple blood. With his last breath of air lingering in his lungs, Dark Jak tensed, forcing the Dark Energy that rippled relentlessly from his body into his arms. The electricity flowed from his arms like an unstoppable tide. It flowed from his fingernails into the already infected wounds in the creature's legs.

The Metal Head stiffened, its head raised, body jerking uncontrollably like an elf on the verge of a seizure. Its foot jerked away, trying to escape the sudden, unexplainable plain that had suddenly inflicted its ravaged body.

Dark Jak took the opportunity immediately. His black eyes, nearly bursting from his pale face, were wide with hunger as he gasped in mouthful after mouthful of sand-filled air. However, his momentary weakness did not distract him from the bigger picture. This creature had threatened his life. Twice. It had to die.

Much to his own surprise as well as the Metal Head's, Dark Jak did not let go as the creature lunged away. He held on, his claws sinking even deeper than before into the throbbing masses of swollen flesh in its legs. He held for a moment, dangling in midair like a mountain climber whose rope has snapped, and then came down. With his feet planted firmly in the shifting sand, Dark Jak held tight, the tendons in his neck straining and popping, his lips drawn back over his fangs in a mirthless smile.

Grunting, Dark Jak crouched for a moment, his muscles tensing, and then lifted, his maw opened wide, his tongue lolling out like some kind of mutated lizard.

As his hands reached the peak of their arch, he let go. The force of the motion, fuelled by rage and Dark Eco pumping through Jak's tainted blood, sent the Metal Head spinning, airborne like a monstrous, wingless bat.

An earshattering scream ripped forth from its gullet as it flew. It landed on the dunes some fifty feet away, leaving a solid imprint of its shape into the sand's malleable surface.

For about a minute nothing moved. The desert itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see if this otherworldly monstrosity that roamed its breadth was truly dead. Dark Jak himself stood stock-still, barely daring to breathe, his obsidian talons nervously twitching. Suddenly the body began to move, its legs, as thick and hard as the trunks of young trees slowly, painfully righting their feet as if seeking to take root.

The Metal Head groaned, its deathly yellow eyes blurred and stunned. Dark Jak took this moment to his advantage. He would put a stop to this creature once and for all, end its life while it was still weak.

Like a lion converging on its prey, the Dark Eco creature hurtled forward, bulging legs pumping tirelessly, claws outstretched, ready to do all the damage they could before the Metal Head regained its sense.

Even in its weakened state, the Metal Head still saw the blurry form of its attacker barreling toward it across the dunes. With rasping roar, it too began to charge, leaning drunkenly from side to side as it came.

As it approached, it swooped its head downward in a wide arc, ready to ram this persistent creature off its feet.

Unlike the other beast, Dark Jak had his senses. His next action was one that the Metal Head least expected of him. Stopping in mid run, Dark Jak caught the creature's muzzle in mid-swing, wrapping his arms around it like one would do while carrying a piece of lumber.

Dark Jak winced as the creature's head struck him. He felt his ribs give dangerously at the Metal Head's impact. His booted feet sank deep into the sand to about his ankles with the impact, but he held firm, refusing to let go of this creature that had quite nearly ended his life.

The creature grunted in protest, pulling with all of its strength away from Dark Jak. Even with his feet planted firmly, the unstable surface began to give way. A long trail, about ten feet long, soon emerged as the creature pulled again and again, desperately trying to free itself from Dark Jak's unrelenting grasp.

The elf's body crackled with Dark Energy. As before, long fingers of purple lightning surged from his body, blackening anything they touched into a singed black. The Metal Head howled in pain, redoubling its efforts to escape, but the pale elf held, perhaps even harder than before.

Dozens of large, black freckled of singed flesh were appearing across the Metal Head's scaly back. The Metal Head pulled again and again, its tugs becoming desperate. Any experience it had had in past battles melting away as panic quickly rose to the surface.

Dark Jak's legs spread apart, his grip tightening around the Metal Head's muzzle, oblivious to the creature's now desperate struggle for freedom. With movements guided by instinct alone, Dark Jak twisted the creature's head sideways with one quick, spastic jerk. There was a sickening crack, and the Metal Head's body went rigid. For a second the beast stood still, wide-eyed with shock, and then collapsed, its body finally at rest, soon to be covered by the desert's unceasing sands.

Dark Jak stood for a moment over the creature's body, gazing down at it from his dark eyes. The creature's head had fallen at an odd angle, well past ninety degrees. Slowly, he sunk to his knees. Now that his foe was defeated, a lasting calm was beginning to fill him. His pale lids closed over the pools of darkness that were his eyes. Very slowly, Dark Jak sank to his side, curling into a ball before the Metal Head's body. With the satisfying taste of victory still lingering in his mouth, Dark Jak fell asleep.

Jak awoke some hours later. The sun was only a dark orange sliver disappearing swiftly over the top of the windscarred mountains. The sky as always was a deep, rolling tapestry of orange, gold, violet and scarlet. Spitting sand and grit from his mouth and out from between his teeth, Jak slowly rose to his feet. He glanced briefly at the partially covered body of the Metal Head behind him, barely surprised to see it. Whatever Dark Jak had done, he obviously had done it right. Jak had not neglected to notice the plethora of scratches and scorch marks that covered the creature's body.

"Dax?" he called, scanning the darkening dunes surrounding him. Jak began to feel worried. Spargus' gates would be closing soon, and if he couldn't find Daxter, he might have to head back without him. The thought of leaving his best friend alone in a Marauder-infested desert did not register kindly in Jak's heart. Plus, he thought with a sinking feeling, there were wild leapers out in the desert as well. The tame leaper may have released him, but what would happen if a wild leaper managed to get Daxter into its mouth? Jak didn't like the idea. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he screamed at the top of his voice. "DAX! WHERE ARE YOU!"

Jak gasped in surprise as he felt his satchel shift on his back. A moment later Daxter's groggy face appeared out of the top of the satchel. "What? What is it?" Daxter said grouchily, as if he had been awakened from a relaxing dream.

"How long have you been there?" Jak asked over his shoulder, his voice thick with relief.

"Eh, a couple hours," Daxter said, wiping his paw over his face. "I came out of hiding once the roaring stopped. It wasn't too hard to find you. I tried to wake you up." Daxter snorted, "No such luck. So are we heading back to the city?"

Jak faltered. It didn't take a genius to know that Kleiver wouldn't be welcoming them back with open arms after they had succeeded in demolishing one of his better vehicles on their first run-though. Yet still, a warm bed in Spargus was better than a cold, lonely night in a desert. "Yeah…"

A muffled voice suddenly halted Jak in mid sentence. The voice was too muffled to understand, but it sounded something like "Me-ed com'dr, reprt!" Whatever it was, it was coming from one of the many pockets and containers that decorated the Metal Head's "saddle."

Following the sound of the voice, Jak searched through numerous pockets, most only yielding scraps of Precursor metal and containers of raw Dark Eco, which Jak quickly shied away from. At last he found the source. In a pocket near the top of the saddle, Jak found a small, flat alien-looking device about half the width of a Precursor Orb. The device suddenly hummed to life. A small, holographic head appeared, floating above the device's surface. The head barely looked human. It was blocky and jagged with what appeared to be numerous cuts gashes lining the face. But the voice…the voice itself was so familiar…

In shock, Jak dropped the device to the ground, taking a step back. Daxter had climbed out of Jak's satchel and had taken his usual perch on his shoulder do gaze at the device and the holographic head that now lay swiveling on the ground.

"Metal Head Commander, report!" the head said, swiveling once again.

"_Jak!_" Daxter hissed, waving frantically at his friend. Jak tore his eyes from the disfigured head in the sand and glanced over at Daxter. The Ottsel was holding the flap of a pocket open and pointing inside. Jak inclined his head for a better view and gasped. Inside the shadows of the pocket the eerie purple glow of a Dark Eco Crystal could just faintly be seen.

"What's happening?" the head bellowed, sliding its holographic eyes over the endless waves of sand, apparently confused. "If you've lost that shipment and you're still alive, I'll kill you myself! I want every Dark Eco Crystal you can find, time is short!" Jak's eyes slid instinctively over to the pouch which contained the single, glowing Dark Eco Crystal.

Scooping Daxter back onto his shoulder, Jak began to walk very slowly over to the communicator. For some reason he hated that voice. It reminded him of a man he once knew, a man who had felt sure of his superiority over everyone around him; very similar to this man before him. "Did you hear me?" the voice hissed. At the sound of Jak's approaching footsteps, the head turned to the approaching elf, looking upward into Jak's face. The expression exchanged abruptly, from one of boundless hatred to one of badly-suppressed fear. "Wait…not you!" the head's scream was cut short as Jak brought his steel-toed boot down upon it, crushing the fragile device below it.

"I don't like the sound of your voice," Jak growled as the small machine cracked and sparked beneath him.

"Hah! You sure kicked sand in his face!" Daxter laughed, followed by a self-complimenting "Oh yeah, that was good."

"That face looked familiar," Jak said quietly, staring at the ruined device beneath him.

Daxter rolled his eyes. "Now you're getting paranoid, buddy boy. Come on, Bigfoot, let's get back," Daxter patted Jak reassuringly on the shoulder, "this desert gives me the creeps."

Indeed, the sun had set not two minutes ago. As the last of it had disappeared over the mountains, the desert had suddenly become dark and foreboding. An icy wind blew through Jak's hair, every bit of heat stripped from it in a split second. "Get used to it, Dax," Jak said, shivering slightly. "It's a long way back to Spargus."

Pocketing the Dark Eco Crystal he had pulled from the Metal Head's body, Jak and Daxter began the long march back to the Desert City of Spargus, guided only by the flaming beacon that burned brightly above it on the topmost tower of the city, its bright light cutting through even the fiercest of storms so that any lost Wastelanders may find their way back home.

**Yeah, well that's it. I'll work as fast as I can on the next one, but don't get your hopes up. I'm surprised at how long this one turned out to be, so forgive me. R&R. Goodbye!**


	12. Chapter 12: Just Another Day

**You thought I had quit, didn't you? You thought I gave up. I would never do that to you. I'll try to finish this, go to the end. Here it is, Chapter 12. Enjoy.**

Jak could feel the difference the moment he stepped through the thick hodge-podge of Precursor metal that was the outer gate of Spargus. The moment he entered the haven, the thrashing, torturous winds of the desert ceased in a heartbeat. As the mechanical doors closed shut with a resounding crash, Jak collapsed to his feet, pulling his mask down from his mouth, tearing away his goggles to breathe the city's tranquil air.

Daxter collapsed as well, falling from Jak's plated shoulder to lay stock-still on the floor, kissing it. "I love this city," Daxter groaned, rubbing the floor with his furry palm. "I love it. Let's live here, Jak."

"We have to get moving," Jak grunted, spitting a mouthful of grit over his shoulder. "I really don't want to be the one to tell Kleiver that one of his 'precious vehicles' has been totaled."

Daxter immediately rose to his feet, clambering swiftly to his regular perch. "Yeah," he agreed, suddenly very serious, "let's get moving."

Jak crossed to the other side of the garage in several swift strides. He made a conscious effort not to look at the gaping empty space where the _Sand Shark_, as he had named it, one sat.

The doors opened with an ominous hiss, and Jak walked through to the welcome stillness of Spargus.

The desert city's streets were practically free of people. As Jak strode down the uneven roadways he would occasionally pass an armor-clad insomniac or a leaper foraging for a snack. Other than that, it seemed that most people had retreated to the comfort of their own homes.

It was at this point that it suddenly dawned on the outsider that he had nowhere to stay. He had no home, no bed to curl into. How could he have been so stupid? Jak groaned and buried his face in his callused hands. "Now what?" Jak moaned through his fingers.

"What?" Daxter asked worriedly, pulling on the tip of Jak's ear. "What's the matter buddy?"

"Dax, we don't have anywhere to go."

The blonde elf felt the Ottsel on his shoulder go rigid. A violent tremor began to stir through his friend's furry body. His feet twitched nervously, his tiny digits curling into fists.

"Dax?"

"D…D…"

"Hey, Dax?" Jak turned to his friend worriedly. Daxter's face was screwed into an expression reminiscent of rage and sorrow. His eyes twitched nervously, his small black nose drawing breath in short, quick bursts. "Daxter!" Jak snapped his fingers before the Ottsel's face.

"Damas," Daxter finally blurted. "Let's…go…to Damas."

Jak stared at his friend in shock. "What? Why?"

Daxter turned to face his friend, staring into Jak's dumbstruck face. "We can sleep in the elevator. At least it's somewhere inside."

"Daxter, are you being serious?"

Daxter hopped down from Jak's shoulder and began walking in the direction of the palace, his padded feet slapping quietly on the city's worn cobblestones. "For once, yeah."

Though Jak didn't particularly like the idea of sleeping inside of an elevator, he couldn't argue with Daxter's logic. It was inside, and it was partially safe. This was a city of convicts, banished into the desert for crimes they had committed within Haven. Sleeping outside, unprotected, could be suicide. Jak wasn't bothered so much by the concept of sleeping in an elevator, though. What concerned him was what the Desert King's reaction would be if he found him sleeping there.

Regardless, Jak followed the two foot Ottsel and scooped him onto his shoulder. Then, silently, the duo marched on to the Spargus Palace.

As they reached the palace, the doors; engraved with Damas' house seal; hissed and sprang open. The two proceeded into the dark area which would serve as their sleeping quarters for the night. The two friends each picked their corners, where they curled into. The floor was hard and uneven. No matter what position the elf or the Ottsel twisted themselves into, there always seemed to be something jabbing them from some odd angle. As sleep finally began to take hold of Jak, allowing him to close his eyes in comfort, he heard Daxter mutter from the corner opposite his own: "Bah! How did Pecker get it so good?"

The pair awoke some time later. It was impossible to tell the time of day from inside the elevator shaft. Whether it was day or night, it was always the same shade of dark. Jak rose to his feet, his back popping. He yawned and stretched his arms out, running his fingers gingerly over the play of muscle to the red marks left in them by a night of sleep on an uneven surface.

Daxter hadn't fared much better. His fur was turned at odd angles as if someone had pet him the wrong way. His eyes were dim, his tongue dry. In the dark Jak heard him mutter, "Ok, if I ever suggest sleeping here ever again, shoot me."

Jak couldn't help chuckling. "It wasn't all bad Dax," Jak laughed, "at least we were warm." Jak sat back down in his corner, resting his head against the carved stone wall. His hand passed over the floor, feeling the rough texture, trying to judge exactly what kind of surface they had been sleeping on. The previous night he had been too tired to even care.

Suddenly his hand passed over something that felt like a small note card. Grabbing it, Jak held it close to his face. The card, as it turned out, had one simple message on it, written in a flowing Precurian text.

_"Meet Me in the Throne Room as soon as possible."_

_-Damas, King of Spargus_

"So he saw us," Jak muttered, pocketing the note. He then rose to his feet and looked over to Daxter. "C'mon Dax," he said, "we've got a meeting."

"Eh?"

At that moment the elevator jerked, nearly throwing Jak to his knees. The elevator, creaking loudly, began to rise up to Damas' throne room. Daxter scampered over to his friend and climbed up to his regular perch, glancing at Jak nervously. As the lift reached the peak of its rise Jak once again observed the small slice of paradise that Damas resided in.

Damas himself was sitting in his throne. His icy gaze was trained on the ceiling, staring through the beaten windows into the bright blue sky. His eyes were unfocused, his thick fingers drumming contently on the throne's arm rest. He seemed lost in thought, reminiscing about whatever it was elf men of Damas' power and status reminisce about. As Jak's footsteps grew louder, Damas' ears twitched slightly. His cold eyes rolled sideways towards Jak. For an instant Jak thought he saw a twinkle of happiness, of suppressed joy spark through the sand king's eyes. If this had been true, it was gone a split second later. Damas rose from his throne, snatching up his staff in one hand.

"Welcome back, outsider," Damas rasped, his voice as rough as a beaten mountain crag. "Once again you must test your fighting skills in the Arena. Face down your fears, defeat those who oppose you, and we will see if your skills are of use to us." Once again the king turned his gaze skyward, staring into the sparkling face of the desert sun. "The purity of the Arena is our only guide."

Daxter, his hair bristling uncomfortably, dropped down from his friend's shoulder to approach the king. "Excuse me, Mr. Sand King?" Daxter said in a mockingly timid voice. "Yes, I'd like to place a complaint. We've been training hard, my feet are killing me, and I think I'm getting a hangnail," the Ottsel, as if to add emphasis, held his digit up for Damas to get a better look. "So," he continued, scooting back toward Jak, "maybe I'll just sit this one out" –

"Enough talk!" Damas thundered. The king turned back to his throne and grabbed something from behind the polished chair. Turning back to the blonde elf before him, the king threw the object. Jak caught it easily in midair. Inspecting it, he found the object to be another gun mod. Judging by the reddish hew around the barrel, he assumed it to be an upgrade for the Scatter Gun. Smirking slightly, he stuffed it into his rapidly growing satchel. Damas nodded approvingly.

"The Arena awaits."

The roar of the crowd was even more deafening than Jak's first visit. Spargus' many citizens lined the rows of carven stands, cheering and jeering as the outsider stepped onto the moving platform. Jak turned his head momentarily towards the box in which Damas sat. The desert king was watching him, his solid eyes observing him as if he himself were a rare artifact of some kind. Jak, despite himself, offered the king a brief nod. To his surprise the king responded with a rare smile. The platform lurched, nearly bringing Jak to his knees. It then began its horribly slow descent down to the arena below.

As it did so, the heat became all the more intense. Jak peered down into the fiery crater, observing the battle ground. This time around the arena was split into four different sections. Overall it was a large square arguably a hundred feet across. The square was divided by two glowing rivulets of molten magma separating it into four different, smaller squares. Located at each of these squares, suspended by rotting lengths of wood were two patched huts which, as Jak guessed, contained his opponents – most likely captured Marauders as before.

As Jak stepped onto the battleground of patched Precursor metal, he immediately felt the rush of adrenalin that came with each fight he had ever been through. Cracking his knuckles in anticipation, he turned to the quivering Ottsel on his shoulder. "Time to rock, Dax."

An incoherent whimper was the creature's only response.

All at once the doors to the huts situated around the arena opened, and out leaped the same battle-scarred Marauders, their scorched scimitars glowing from the magma, their pallid skin white as chalk. Damas' voice echoed throughout the Arena, silencing the roar of the crowd for a split second. "Let the battle begin!"

The Marauders charged as one, their wicked swords held high over their heads, their savage battle cries magnified by the barbaric masks closed over their faces. As the two Marauders approached him, Jak clenched his fists, readying himself for the terrible trial of Spargus. The Marauders' scimitars sang lustily through the air, each approaching from opposite sides. In seconds, they would have the equal effect of a giant pair of scissors, to slice the outsider in half in two ragged, unclean cuts. It was in this moment that Jak dropped to the floor in a forced crouch. The two blades crashed together above him with an earsplitting shriek of metal against metal.

Jak's leg, tensed like a coiled spring, shot out into the Marauder's leg, shattering the bone with its steel tip. The Marauder screamed in agony, his pale leg buckling beneath him. He fell to the floor paralyzed, clutching his ruined leg with his burly arms. Jak didn't let this distract him for an instant. He drew his Scatter Gun and, looking up into the masked face of the Marauder, unleashed a single shot of concentrated Red Eco into the elf's abdomen. The elf flew backward instantly, his sword leaping from his hand. He fell to the ground nearly five feet away, a sizzling hole ripped open in his stomach.

"Woo hoo!" whooped Daxter as Jak rose to his feet. "That's my buddy!"

Daxter's celebration was short lived. No sooner had the words escaped his mouth, a deafening ringing filled the arena, like a warning alarm back in Haven. The crowd's cheers only grew louder. Jak turned a complete circle, looking confusedly about.

Suddenly Daxter tapped him on the shoulder. "Uhh, Jak?" the animal whimpered.

"What?"

As Jak turned, he suddenly realized there was no need for the Ottsel to answer. Magma was bubbling up from a hole in the center of the mini-arena, slowly but surely filling the expanse of the arena. _The arena was sinking!_

"Oh _shit!_" Jak moaned. Clutching a squirming Daxter in his arms, Jak began to sprint harder than he had ever remembered doing. He felt the intense heat of the magma as it seeped up from the floor. He didn't turn to watch as the crippled Marauder was engulfed screaming in a spontaneous inferno. All that mattered was reaching the safety of the next arena. He approached the edge and leaped, momentarily airborne before crashing back onto the patchwork of Precursor metal.

The moment he landed the huts opened again, and two more Marauders touched down, breathing heavily through their armored helmets. They charged at once, side by side, brandishing their identical swords with deadly skill. Jak charged as well, roaring with battle-fuelled ferocity. He dove forward, catlike, and tackled a muscle bound Marauder to the ground, berating him with punch after punch to the helmet. The elf kicked hard, trying frantically to force Jak off of him, but to no avail. Jak beat his fists bloody; crushing the helmet down until it fit so tight around the Marauder's face it would be impossible for him to remove it. He rolled sideways a moment later as the second Marauder's scimitar came crashing down, penetrating his partner's chest where Jak had been sitting a moment later. Jak swept the Marauder's feet out from under him with a swift kick. Then, pulling the elf's sword from the corpse of the first Marauder, impaled the stunned creature on his own weapon.

The alarms rang, and Jak ran. This was the simple monotony of the battle. Massacre, alarms, run, and massacre. There was no mercy, no compassion. It was fight to survive – the golden rule of the unforgiving wasteland. It was as Damas had said, strength and survival were valued above all. "Prove yourself worthy, or the desert will be your grave…"

Jak barely noticed as he slaughtered his next two opponents. It was as if it were a simple exercise – a specialized career. The thought sent shivers up his spine. Had those two years in prison changed him that much? Had Praxis really made him into a natural killer? Maybe he did deserve banishment…

The very last Marauder was huddled in the far corner of the arena, shaking uncontrollably. Dark Jak stood over him, his claws twitching readily. In his right hand he held the elf's dripping arm, ripped from the socket as easily as one would rip a sapling from live-giving earth. The Marauder grunted in some strange primitive language, incoherent and meaningless. The alarm would ring again soon, and unless every last enemy was dead, he would be burned along with the twitching waste of air huddled before him. This was all that the Id of Jak knew – kill or be killed. He would kill this last elf easily, without fuss. Make it quick, make it efficient. Easy.

Dark Jak lunged forward, dropping the arm to the floor. His clawed hands closed around the elf's exposed neck, lifting him into the air as if he weighed nothing at all. The man's meaningless pleas fell onto deaf ears. The tainted elf's hands closed around the man's esophagus, the claws sinking deep into the flesh. In one jerk of his arm, he wrenched half the elf's neck from the rest of the body. The limp body fell to the floor, lifeless. Dark Jak breathed slowly and deeply, staring down at the blood-soaked heap of flesh quivering in his open palm. The changed happened instantaneously – claws shrank, horns disappeared and skin regained its pigment. Jak's muscles shrank back to normal size, and the overwhelming blackness shrank from his eyes, back into his pupils. It took Jak a moment to focus in on the elf's neck in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, as if incapable of truly seeing it for what it was. The heap of flesh fell from his limp hand with a splat.

Jak lowered his gaze to the patchwork of Precursor metal that made up the remainder of the Arena. "What the hell am I?" he muttered.

Daxter's head poked out from Jak's thoroughly stuffed satchel. "_We,_" he said, tapping Jak comfortingly on the ear tip, "are best friends, desert gladiators, and we kicked some serious Marauder butt!" The Ottsel leaped onto Jak's shoulder and struck an insanely dramatic pose, "now let's go get our prize!"

Jak couldn't help but smile at his friend's antics. He knew that no matter what the future brought, Daxter would be by his side to help him. He had proven his loyalty a year ago, and that was all that Jak needed. Nodding, Jak stepped onto the platform and rode it to the top.

Moments later he and Daxter stepped onto the carefully carven platform set before the King's box. Damas sat at his throne, looking down at Jak with an intense interest. Jak could only stare back, wondering what thoughts could be crawling through the king's mind.

"I can't believe you two are still alive!" Pecker crowed.

"Neeyah," Daxter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What a surprise."

Pecker crossed his wings and said in his usual, superior mood: "Damas and I are very impressed."

Daxter's digits tightened around a pawful of Jak's blond hair. "Hey feather butt, who appointed you king?" he demanded.

Pecker scowled. "_He_ did!" he retorted indignantly, nodding towards Damas, "almost. Sort of a…semi-king, you know." Then, as if in order to spite his orange-furred rival, added in an overly blissful tone "You should see our sleeping quarters, and his harem of love birds," Pecker moaned, waving his wings slowly for added emphasis. Jak and Daxter could only stare at each other in uncomprehending confusing as a fresh wave of images flowed through their minds. "I never get any sleep these days," he chuckled. "It's good to be the king, no?" he said, turning to Damas, who smiled in return.

Daxter, who by now was quivering with fury, shot out with anger. "I don't see no crown on that fat feather head!"

Pecker retorted with equal anger. "You want a crown? I'll crown _you!_ Don't make me come down there from this perch!"

Daxter leaped onto the pedestal before them, egging the Monkaw on. "Oh, I got a perch for ya, birdie. Right here, twirl on it!" Daxter extended a paw, the middle digit raised in defiance of Pecker's power.

A collective gasp ran through the Arena. Startled citizens stared wide-eyed at the king's box, wondering at the Ottsel's fate. Most of them hoped to see a bit more blood before they left.

"That's it! It's go time!" Pecker shrieked, airborne in a spit second. He soared downward towards the Ottsel like a multi-colored vulture, ready to kill.

"Bring it on, bird brain!"

The two animals locked together in a mass of fur and feathers, pummeling each other – spitting and cursing with reckless abandon.

"That's enough!" The two animals halted in an instant. Damas was standing, staring down at the two creatures with disgust. "If I had wanted you to fight, I'd have commanded it!" Then his gaze turned to Jak, and both his eyes and overall demeanor softened for an instant. "You did…very well, Jak." The king paused for a moment, his head turned slightly, as if unable to meet the blonde elf's eyes. "You make me proud, er…" Damas paused again, unable to complete his statement. "…That our training program is…so good." Shaking his head, the Sand King's eyes hardened once more. "Before you is a new weapon mod and your second battle amulet. One more arena win, and you will be a true Wastelander."

Jak nodded thankfully and took both items, examining them. The mod was an upgrade to the Blaster. It had an added barrel, but what its function was remained unknown. As he continued through the metallic doors, out into the noticeably cooler air of the outside. He began to wonder about possible solutions to a problem that was rapidly becoming greater and greater. It was something that he would have to take care of, and soon.

"I'm going to need a bigger satchel," Jak muttered, cramming the new mod into the bulging leather sack on his back. Daxter would have to settle for his shoulder for the time being.

**Well? Well? What did you think? Please let me know!**


	13. Chapter 13: Leaper Wranglin'

Jak sat sullenly on the massive stone stairs leading up to the volcanic arena of Spargus. Scant hours ago Jak had been risking his life in that deadly arena against sword-wielding warriors of the desert. He had killed them, taken each of their lives in a split second for the amusement of the people. He hadn't done it for them, he had done it for the King – and more importantly for himself. His only chance for survival was to prove himself worthy to live in Spargus, and that meant killing to victory. All this was just a distant memory, another checkmark on a long death list in the back of the elf's mind. One day that list would come back to haunt him, maybe not now, but one day the memories of the cold, dead eyes of the enemies he had slaughtered would assault him without remorse or sympathy, he knew this, as it was inevitable for one who knew such a life as he.

But this was not the problem that Jak faced now, this was not the reason the elf sat before the Arena, his spirit downtrodden and beaten. The problems were the four weapon mods sitting in order on the stair before him, two yellow and two red. Staring at the roughened mods before him, his crystal eyes scanning every inch of their beaten frames, smalls strands of thought began to twist within Jak's mind.

"Ugh, what are we doing here Jak?" Daxter whined, wiping a trickle of sweat from his twitching nose. "I'm hungry." When Jak failed to respond, Daxter said, "Well…I'm going to find myself something to eat. See ya around, pal."

"Get too far away and you'll probably end up some Leaper's lunch, Dax," Jak muttered without looking up from the baffling mods before him.

Daxter stopped and turned slowly to his friend. " 'Get too far away and you'll end up a'…gah! Will you come with me then?" Daxter growled, tapping his furry foot impatiently.

"Just…gimme a sec," the elf replied, slowly reaching for the Scatter Gun barrel.

"That's what you said an hour ago!" Daxter wailed, falling to the desert floor, causing a small cloud of dust to rise around him. "That's it Jak," he muttered, closing his eyes, "I give up. I'll just let the buzzards get me. The next time you look up I'm going to be a clean skeleton, and it'll be all your fault. You could have saved me, but in stead you decided to play with your new toy while I wasted away before you. Let it be on your head."

Jak grunted in response, not hearing a word the Ottsel had said. He now held the Scatter Gun barrel in his left hand, and the new red mod in his right. According to Damas, this new mod was called the "Wave Concussor." Scanning the two mods, Jak noticed three long grooves carved into the end of the Scatter Gun barrel. Likewise, and the opposite end of the Wave Concussor mod, there were three symmetrical prongs. A slow smile began to spread over Jak's face. "Of course," he muttered, "how couldn't I have noticed before?"

"Uh…Jak? I – I really am starting to see buzzards…"

Jak slowly brought the two mods together, sweat beading on the back of his neck. As he thought, the metal prongs of the Concussor fitted perfectly into the Scatter mod's carved grooves. The moment they fitted together, a startling metamorphosis took place in Jak's hands. The wide barrel of the Concussor began to collapse downward like an umbrella, fitting almost perfectly around the central hub of the barrel. His hands trembling, Jak fitted the mod to the Morph Gun. At once the gun transformed, the characteristic ammo casket of the Scatter Gun appearing out of the hole on top. Jak grabbed the end of the barrel and, as one would do with an umbrella, forced the folded barrel outward to its full extent. The Morph Gun immediately elongated itself, changing slightly into what was now the Wave Concussor. Grinning to himself, the elf detached the newly upgraded mod from the Morph Gun and stuffed it firmly into his worn satchel. "At least it'll save some space," he said, his trigger finger beginning to itch.

The new Blaster mod worked identically, folding itself onto the original mod. Jak, now with a noticeably less stuffed satchel, rose to his feet and walked over to Daxter, who was now seated firmly at the top of a nearby cactus fighting madly for his life against two large, sharp-beaked vultures. Jak plucked the screaming Ottsel from the cactus, quickly driving the vultures away with two well-aimed kicks from his steel-toed boots.

"You alright Dax?" Jak asked the trembling ball of fur on his shoulder.

Daxter, his eyes wide and bloodshot, locked the elf with a look saturated with loathing. "I…hate you. I really, really hate you."

"Nice job, hero," said a familiar voice.

Jak turned to meet Kleiver, who was standing roughly five feet from him. "Meet me at my garage in five. Damas has a job for us. See you there."

Kleiver shoved past the blond elf ruefully, melding surprisingly well into Spargus' roving crowds.

Moments later Jak and a traumatized Daxter were standing before the doors to Kleiver's garage. As the doors opened with a hiss, Jak entered cautiously. Even if Kleiver hadn't yet mentioned what Jak had done to the _Sand Shark, _he didn't trust the flabby Wastelander as far as he could throw him. Needless to say, that wasn't very far.

However, as the duo entered the massive garage, they were surprised to see Damas far off to the left, examining a completely repaired _Sand Shark._ Jak could only stand and stare. The buggy looked just as good – if not _better_ – than before. Every trace of the Metal Head's attack was completely gone.

Jak tore his gaze from the repaired buggy Kleiver himself, who was leaning against a large, elongated buggy to his immediate right.

"Surprised, eh?" Kleiver growled. "Believe me, my vehicles have taken worse than anything you can do the 'em." The elf's gaze traveled over to the king, who was running his calloused hands over one of the _Sand Shark_'s tires. "Damas has a job for us," Kleiver muttered. Jak turned to face the mechanic, interested. "But I ain't no babysitter, so stay out of my way," the elf growled, leaning in close, his lips drawn back to reveal his yellowing teeth.

"Hah, Jak's not afraid of you," Daxter retorted, turning to his friend, "are ya, Jak?" Jak only smiled in response.

Kleiver's hands ran over his enormous gun thoughtfully as he stared up into the sky, his gaze running across the momentarily blue sky. "If you knew what was going on out here, you'd be afraid all right…"

Before Jak could ask what Kleiver meant, the King's gruff rasp sounded from behind. "What is going on here?"

The outsider turned to face Damas, who was staring at the two warriors with concern.

"Nothing, your lordship," Kleiver said casually, nudging Jak with the barrel of his gun, "just offering Jak and the little one here some healthy advice."

Damas strode farther to Jak, slinging his arm over Jak's shoulder, his face close to Jak's ear. "You have a reputation for being rash," Damas said. Jak could swear he heard a hint of concern in the king's voice. "Didn't your father ever tell you to pick your battles wisely." Daxter waved his hand in warning, but by the time he had done this, the words had been said. Jak turned his gaze from the king's face.

"I didn't know my father."

Both Damas and Kleiver exchanged a glace of surprise. "Er…my point is, sometimes you take your opponent head on, and sometimes…you wait until his weakness is revealed." Damas walked ahead slightly, choosing his words carefully. "Patience is a warrior's greatest weapon." The king turned to Jak, meeting his gaze. "Do you understand?" Jak smiled, nodding. A thin smile spread across the king's jaw. "Jak, I want you and Kleiver to go into the desert and herd a group of lizards into a waiting transport. We must prepare for whatever lies ahead, and I need all the resources we can gather."

"No problem," Jak said, looking at Daxter, "I'm good with animals." Daxter flashed a sarcastic smile, wobbling his head stupidly.

"See you out there, 'chum'," Kleiver whispered as he loaded himself into the elongated buggy beside him. The buggy roared to life, speeding with unnatural speed into the heat of the desert.

Jak raced to the _Sand Shark_. Moments later he was hot on Kleiver's tale, following him to the designated area. The journey was a long one, racing between the desert mountains, crashing over and through massive dunes. Several times they crossed hidden rivers of water, fed by trickling waterfalls running from unseen mouths high in the mountains.

Soon Kleiver slowed to a stop, Jak pulling up beside him. Before them, some twenty meters away were what appeared to be the remains of a small village. The ruins, long since deserted were beaten down and worn away. The only part that seemed to have been installed recently was a small caging area in the very center.

"What is this place?" Jak called to Kleiver, who was eyeing the ruins as well.

"Remains of a small village set up by some of the first of Haven's refuse," Kleiver answered. "Abandoned it once they found it didn't hold up to well in the storms. Once more were banished they were able to create another near the mountains, which eventually became Spargus." Kleiver turned to Jak, calling for his attention. "Look, wild Leapers are quick. We're going to have to hit 'em hard and fast, or else they'll run out into the desert and we'll never draw them back. Got it?" Jak revved his engine hard, ready to go. "We'll only need two or three of them for now. Alright, let's GO!"

Jak rammed the gas pedal down, sending the _Sand Shark _crashing down to the ruins ahead. Several of the Leapers looked in horror at the vehicle roaring toward them. The large flock of lizards began to stampede, seeking shelter in the ruins. Jak followed them closely, but found herding to be much more difficult than he thought. Even in a buggy as versatile as the _Sand Shark_, there were too many nooks and areas that the Leapers could hide in to escape the buggy. Ten minutes passed, and still there were no Leapers in the holding area. "Doesn't look like Kleiver's doing much better," Jak called to Daxter, who was perched on top of one of the roll bars. "Where is he anyway? I haven't seen him at all around here."

Daxter didn't answer, his eyes were fixed on the group of lizards currently in front of the roaring buggy. One of the Leapers suddenly stumbled, tripping over its own feet. With a mournful howl the animal fell to the ground, rolling like a small log in the burning sand. Before Jak could react, the buggy was upon the fallen Leaper. It was over in a flash – the buggy sped over the animal, killing it in an instant, crushing its fragile bones in under the hardened tires. "Ouch," Daxter hissed, peering back at the Leaper's corpse over his shoulder.

Jak moaned as he continued his pursuit. This wasn't getting them anywhere, no matter how hard he tried the Leapers knew the area better than him. Whatever happened, Jak knew he would not get the job done any time soon without a miracle. And that's when inspiration suddenly hit. Jak gazed up at Daxter, his fur blowing in the hot desert wind. "Dax, I need you to do something for me."

Daxter looked away from the panicked Leapers ahead to his friend beside him. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" he said mournfully.

The buggy began to pick up speed, slowly catching up to the sprinting lizards. The buggy was now side by side with the closest specimen. The Leaper's dark eyes were wide with terror, foam spilling from its mouth like a mad thing. The sun's dying light reflected off of its glinting blue scales. Daxter gazed at the large lizard and gulped. "Ok Dax," Jak hollered, "just like I told you! Now go!" Daxter gulped again, gave one last look to the elf next to him, and leaped.

The distance was only about five feet, but at such speeds, any distance can be daunting. Daxter landed on the lizard's back, wrapping his paws around its neck in desperation. The Leaper shrieked in surprise, veering wildly across the narrow space between the ruins. Daxter screamed, holding desperately onto the giant lizard's ears. "Dax! Lead it to the pen!"

Horrified, Daxter pulled the Leaper's ears to the right – hard. The Leaper shrieked again, turning a sharp right down a narrow allyway to the center of the ruined village. The Ottsel pulled desperately in all directions – right, left, left, right, left…an endless, frantic sprint of dodging and screaming.

All of a sudden, there it was. The holding pen came up into plain sight, sitting in the very center of the ruins. His teeth gritted, Daxter carefully guided the panic-stricken Leaper into the nearest entrance. The Ottsel leapt off of the creature's scaly back at the last possible second, landing face first in the sand, rolling to a stop. A pulsating gate of electricity appeared across the entrance, preventing the newly captured animal from escaping.

Jak pulled up next to his partner seconds later. Daxter galloped up to the buggy, leaping into the passenger's seat without hesitation. Jak looked down worriedly at the Ottsel, who was busy grooming bits of sand from his face. "Well," Jak said reluctantly, "think you can manage two more rides?"

Daxter looked up at Jak and flashed a grit-filled smile. "Yeah, let's get 'em."

The Leapers were no easier to catch up to, but now with their new strategy, the duo's confidence was renewed. The next target was a large female straying from the rest of the pack. She, like the previous lizard, was beginning to tire. Daxter leaped once again, his tiny limbs kicking madly in midair. He landed squarely on the Leaper's back, teetering dangerously for a moment before regaining his balance.

This Leaper, however, proved much harder to steer. She was wild…and angry.

Daxter pulled this way and that, frantically trying to direct the female lizard into the pen. He finally managed to direct her into the ruins. The narrow allyways were even harder to navigate with the new Leaper, but Daxter tried nonetheless.

The next few minutes were perhaps the easiest time the team had had in the desert. In no time they had succeeded in penning up three of the best wild Leapers in the area. Sweating and wiping the collective sand from their brows, they pulled to a stop outside. Kleiver, however, was nowhere to be found.

Daxter looked about, scanning the ruins for any sign of a vehicle besides their own. "Where is that lardass anyway?" the Ottsel muttered.

Jak, however, was staring angrily at the dunes. There, sitting in the exact same place he had been when they had started, was Kleiver.

The monitor on the dash of the _Sand Shark_ suddenly buzzed to life. Kleiver's smug face appeared moments later through the static. "Well, nice job there newbies," he grinned. "Couldn't have done better myself."

"Yeah, but we'll never know, will we?" Jak sneered.

"Couldn't have said it better myself. Hold on a tick, I'm coming down to congratulate you in person."

The buggy began to roll leisurely down towards them. Moments later the two were staring Kleiver in the face. Neither of them would have enjoyed anything more at that moment to toss him into the boiling sea.

"I have to admit, you've got some talent, kid," Kleiver said, ignoring their murderous glares. Stepping from his own buggy, he said "Here, you can have another one of my vehicles. You earned it."

While Jak only answered Kleiver's "generosity" with a cold stare, Daxter – never one to take disrespect well – started. "Damn straight," he said loudly, crossing his arms impatiently. "And would it be too much to ask for a foot rub."

Kleiver's disposition changed in an instant. His lips peeled back over his yellowing teeth, he let loose a menacing snarl at the orange rodent. "Nope," Daxter muttered, his toes tightening around Jak's shoulder plate, "didn't think so."

Jak trotted up to the newly earned buggy with pride. While he wouldn't have minded pounding Kleiver to a bloody pulp on the spot, doing his job for him did have some reasonable benefits. "Go ahead and take her for a spit," Kleiver said, loading his massive body into the _Sand Shark_. "And for your own sake," he continued as the buggy's engines roared to life, "you'd better bring it back in one piece!"

The _Sand Shark_ disappeared over the shifting dunes soon after, leaving Jak and Daxter to bask in the heat and utter emptiness of the Wasteland. Jak examined the inside of the buggy with delight. This one, if possible, seemed even better than the _Sand Shark_. The console on the inside was polished and waxed almost to a mirror sheen. The steering wheel was wrapped with what seemed to be tanned Leaper skin. The sheets (also apparently of Leaper skin) looked comfortable – even soft. A myriad of flashing buttons and gleaming knobs decorated the dash, along with a video screen that took up about a third of the entire space. Whatever this buggy was capable of, Jak was ready to find out exactly what it was.

He and Daxter were just about to climb into their new prize when a sudden chill ran down the back of Jak's neck. His hair prickled and began to rise, and for a startling moment the elf was unable to move. The wind tickled his skin with an unnatural coolness. It was a wind touched by powers greater than the heat of the desert. Everything else – the heat, the sound of the merciless wind, the buggy's roaring engine – was cut out in the presence of this strange feeling. The wind was coming from the east. As Jak gazed out into that direction, his eyes dilated, and his sight was suddenly unnaturally acute. It cut through the merciless wind, the dust kicked up by the hot desert air. In the distance he saw a high peak, easily dwarfing all the other mountains around him. Its outline was high and sharp, seemingly unaffected by centuries of weathering storms. And nestled deep in that peak he felt something, a strange sense that he hadn't felt since he was a boy growing up in Sandover Village.

It was the sense of freedom. For one second, he did not feel the presence of the Dark being within him. For one second he could rest, he could resist the beast inside him. And in that single second, he realized that whatever there was at that peak, he had to find out. The wind seemed to have a voice, and it was telling him to come, to explore, and to find whatever was there.

And then it was gone. In the blink of an eye he was back in the desert staring into the distance.

Daxter was already inside the buggy, bouncing eagerly on the cushioned seats. "Come on Jak!" he said excitedly, "let's try this puppy out!"

"Yeah," Jak said, not once taking his eyes from the mountain to the east. "We've got something to do."

**Well, another chapter down the tube. What do you think? Please keep reading, I'm trying my best. Look for another chapter soon!**


	14. A Message From Ekobean

And now…

**A MESSAGE FROM EKOBEAN**

Greetings readers (a.k.a. those of you that still read my stories), I would like to make a comment on the continuing reviews that I still receive in my daily flow of email, co-mingling with the ever present credit card offers, scholarship information, porno advertisements and naggings about my tuition payments.

It is nice to know that even now, two years after I submitted my last chapter to _Sea of Sand_, that there are still people that read and comment on it. I just want everyone to know that I still think at times about my membership on Fanfiction and all the projects that I've left dangling in the wind. Mostly I think about this story, which I really had meant to finish before moving on to bigger and better things. Things like work, money, and tuition payments that, like a massive and unapologetic sponge, suck up said money.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make is this: if I receive enough reviews on this message to convince me that investing my time on it is worth the effort, I will do my best to finish up this story before presumably leaving the site for good.

I'm in college now (in case you couldn't tell from the two above comments about tuition payments) and am 19 years old, and am actually an aspiring writer. That being the case, if I do end up continuing my work on this project I hope at least that I'll hear a few comments about improvements in style, pacing, characterization and whatnot. Not that my ego needs the boost. Heh…yeah.

Thank you for your time,

Ekobean


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